In The City
by PersianFreak
Summary: Sookie Stackhouse is an up-and-coming interior decorator in the greatest city in the world; no, not New York. AU/AH/OOC
1. Meeting and Greeting

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: So I really really enjoy AU/AH/OOC, apparently. I love to hear your thoughts, especially on the first chapter of a brand-new story, so please don't hold back if you enjoyed it. And now, on to the show!

* * *

"Good morning!"

"Good morning, Miss Stackhouse," my assistant Arlene smiles up at me from her desk, eyes still not quite awake at eight in the morning.

"Coffee?" I set down the Tim Horton's cup on her desk, knowing full well that I've just become her favourite person. Arlene is _not_ a morning person and rarely gets up early enough to grab herself a cup of coffee on her way to work, so occasionally I grab an extra cup and an all-bran muffin for her. Sometimes the muffin is a donut.

She thanks me and, after exchanging the usual pleasantries, I head past the free-standing divider that separates the studio into a makeshift waiting room and my work area. Setting down my own breakfast on my desk and dropping my purse into one of its drawers, I hang up my coat and look around my office, one of my favourite places in the world. The eclectic furniture I have and the large books and folders filled with design ideas and decor elements feel more like home to me than the townhouse I share with Amelia, which is in no way my roommate's fault; I just genuinely love what I do, love my new flourishing business and the old hardwood flooring of my office and the easy professional relationship I have with my assistant, and spend most of my time at home contemplating more design ideas for the "sheer joy of it", as Amelia would say. I have fabric swatches on the walls, heavier pieces for upholstery and lighter drapes and cushion patterns framed and hanging over the brick, my favourite colours of purple and yellow present in the patterned armchairs in front of my desk and my own drapes. Sighing contentedly, I settle down behind my desk and turn on my laptop, catching up on the emails that have piled up in my inbox over the weekend before my first appointment with a client.

I know interior designers that require their clients to come to their office. While mine are more than welcome to, if they please, I definitely prefer meeting them in _their_ environments, seeing the way they've set up their own offices and homes even if that particular location is not the one I will be working on. It helps to see that, I think; see the colours and patterns they pick out, the time period they prefer their furniture to be modeled on, how cluttered they like their surroundings. It bewilders me how you can design someone's apartment without _seeing_ how they liked to have it done themselves. Seeing how someone set up a single room can tell loads more about what they like than an entire conversation; a picture is worth a thousand words and all that.

To each their own, my Gran used to say. I call out to Arlene, asking her to get me my client's address, an Eric Northman. Arlene had told me he had made his appointment through his own assistant, which was an instant turn-off for me. People who left their non-business related chores to their assistants irritated me because Gran had always taught both me and my brother Jason to do our own work and the sole reason I had hired Arlene at all was because I needed her, from a professional perspective. I would never get her to do something trivial like book me a personal appointment or pick up my dry cleaning, though; she isn't my bitch.

Arlene appears, handing me the pad of sticky notes marked with her precise handwriting. I glance down at the address and frown.

"Where is this?"

"Yaletown, I think." A crinkle appears in her forehead and she pushes her red hair out of her eyes.

"I should get going then," I mutter, the address sounding familiar to me for some reason. I'm in my car not fifteen minutes later, typing in the address into my GPS and pulling out of the parking lot of the building my office is located in to merge into the ever-present Vancouver traffic. I'm set to meet my client at eleven, which is the earliest I'm available (assuming I have to meet my client as opposed to them coming to see me) but apparently this Northman guy really insisted on the earliest he could get me. Something about working in the afternoon. Regardless, I flick on the radio in my Yaris and let the GPS guide me through the sprawling metropolis.

I love Vancouver, I really do. I love the weather, how it rains instead of snow, how you can't walk down the street without picking up at least five different languages being spoken, how there's never a lack of good restaurants or cafes or ice cream parlours. The only thing that gets to me occasionally is the traffic, especially downtown, but that I can deal with, too. I was born and raised in Victoria - just a ferry ride away – by my Gran who had taken custody of me and my brother ever since my parents died when we were both young. Jason was five and I was barely three, which means that I lack the brief flashes Jason has of our parents. Our Gran did the best she could, and I had a good childhood. I love Victoria almost as much as I love Vancouver, but I always found it _too_ small and quaint, which is why I hopped across the Strait of Georgia and over to UBC in Vancouver for my post-secondary. Jason still lives in our Gran's old house ever since she left it to us when she passed a few years ago. He pays me some rent, even though I told him he didn't have to, because he feels obligated as my big brother to take care of me, though he only does it when it takes next-to-nothing away from him, I'm sad to say. I'm not ungrateful though, no. Far from it. I have nothing to complain about, honestly. The money from my brother is enough to cover my own rent and like I said, my business is taking off.

Though not as much as some, I observe as I reach my destination; 1111 Marinaside Crescent. _Christ_, I think to myself as I find a parking spot through sheer luck. The building in question isn't a high-rise like its neighbours, but there is no question as to its class or, I smile, its price tag. I head into the beige lobby where I'm stopped by the security guard. _Christ_, I think again, when the middle-aged man tells me he has to call up and make sure Mr Northman is expecting my arrival. He is, evidently, because the next minute I'm riding the elevator up to the eighth floor, absently noting that the elevator car is fancier than my entire house. There are only two doors in the landing when the elevator doors slide open, and the space between them is occupied by a painting that is undoubtedly an expensive and original piece. I knock on the right door and wait, adjusting my bag on my shoulder when I hear footsteps approaching me from the other side. The door swings inwards and I suddenly find myself desperately wishing that I had bothered to style my hair to perfection this morning instead of push it back from my face with a bandanna, or that I had at least put on something nicer. Something that would make me look at least on par with the man standing in front of me; a ball gown maybe.

I suppose this would be a good time to mention that after the assistant thing, I had been expecting a balding middle-aged man who sweat too much and wore an ill-fitting suit.

It would also be a good time to mention that I haven't had sex in something like six months. And right now, for the life of me, I couldn't remember who it had been with.

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_Definitely not balding_, I remark to myself hazily. Nope. Or middle-aged. Or donning a bad suit.

In fact, Eric Northman is at the most in his early-thirties, with blonde hair that falls into his face and jeans that are tested wonderfully in all the right places. Especially when he bends down to, say, pick up the pen I dropped. _Oh boy_.

"Your latte," he smiles ironically for a reason I can't discern as he sets down a steaming mug in front of me. It smells wonderful and I tell him so, watching his eyes warm in pleasure at the compliment, though he only nods in acknowledgement. He really is surreally handsome; his nose perfectly symmetrical, his eyes deep blue, his lips sculpted. So is the rest of him, if the outline of his body under his fitted shirt is any indication. _Work, Sookie_, I have to remind myself. The apartment is simply breath-taking: all the windows are floor-length ones with views of the marina or the park, not to mention the fact that it's _enormous_, as I discover three bedrooms and three bathrooms later. I spend the next hour on Eric's (He told me to call him that. It wasn't a personal decision. I'm a professional.) couch, finishing two of the fantastic lattes he can serve up as casually as I do instant coffee and discussing what he likes, what he dislikes, what he wants his home to say about him, blah blah blah. I say blah blah because it's unbelievably difficult to focus, especially when he makes a remark about his place needing a feminine touch and I find myself blurting that it's what I'm here for. He grins this time, and I interpret it as a million different things, all of which come down to the fact that at the age of twenty eight, I'm acting like a love-struck fifteen-year-old.

By the time we're done, it's half past noon and I have more than enough ideas written down as well as quick sketches, and he appears pleased with all of them. I'm gathering all my sheets and tucking them into the folder I brought with me to protect them from the horror that is my bag when he wanders out of the kitchen, having put our mugs in the sink.

"So do you interior decorators get a lunch break or what?" He asks, perched on the armchair of the sofa he tells me he hated the moment he realized it only looked good in the showroom. I check my watch again for no reason at all and tell him that I do, and if I happen to flirt a little bit, it's not my fault because he is flirting right back. "Would you care to join me for lunch? There's a pretty great sushi place right around the corner and if you'd like..." The sentence hangs in the air, his tone making it a question.

"Thank you, but I should get back to my office," I say because I can't. I _want_ to, but I just _can't_. He gives no indication that he's disappointed and it only strengthens my resolve as I finish gathering up my things and head to the door, thanking him for the coffee and letting him know that I'll keep him posted on my designs.

Reality sets in the moment I step foot inside of my office to find Bill Compton lounging on one of my visitors' armchairs.

* * *

If you're interested in seeing Eric's apartment, just search up "1111 Marinaside Crescent, Vancouver" and search results tend to come up.


	2. Mistakes and Missing Pieces

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: I decided it was time for there to be a Canadian AU E/S story and inspiration struck when I visited Vancouver last week. So, Canada tutorial time: Tim Horton's is the chain coffee place in Canada. It's much cheaper than Starbucks and has donuts which, in my book, makes it the winner!

But anyways. Comments are welcome on this chapter; thanks to all of you who took a minute to let me know what your thoughts were!

I'm still shaping how this story is going to go, in my mind, and I think I've got a pretty solid outline of it going. I do tend to be pretty open to the whole creative process, so we'll just have to see how things go.

* * *

_And I say, Baby, yes I feel stupid to call you but I'm lonely,_

_And I don't think you meant it when you said you couldn't love me,_

_And I thought maybe if I kissed the way you do, you'd feel it too._

"Sorry", Maria Mena

* * *

I met Bill Compton in UBC.

He was a Drama Major which, in hindsight, is pretty hilarious all on its own. At the time, however, I fell in love with him faster than you could say 'bad idea'. Not that it became apparent very quickly that it was a bad idea; oh no. It took me literally months to realize that he wasn't quite over his ex, a fact he continued to deny even after I caught him in bed with her the day before our one-year anniversary.

That was the first time he broke my heart.

I still remember him following me to the library while I studied, when we had just met, carefully maintaining his distance and flipping through various scripts but letting his hand brush mine every now and then, smiling slyly when I would meet his eyes. I remember, with no small amount of fondness, his soft smile the first time I told him I loved him, the first time he told me he loved me. I remember other things, too, but he did make me happy, I have to give him that.

He was my first love, my first everything because I'd spent years watching my friends have drunken one-night stands in the back seats of cars and on bathroom floors at parties, and being there when they got their hearts broken or waiting with them for that little negative sign to appear on the plastic display had strengthened my resolve to wait for the right guy, for the right time. That was probably why I had forgiven him when he had come crawling back to me. I had waited so long for the guy I could shed my insecurities with; could I really turn him away, especially when he was begging me to forgive him in his subdued way, convincing me with the absolutely sincere look in his dark eyes? He loved me, he was sorry, he would never see her again. What else could I possibly expect from the guy? People made mistakes.

So I forgave him. That was _my_ first mistake.

I took him back and we spent the next year or so happy, me easing back into the swing of our relationship while Bill did his very best to make it up to me. Years later, I would think of this brief window of bliss and smile. _See, _I'd tell myself, _it wasn't all bad._

I said 'yes' when he proposed to me after graduation. That was my second mistake.

I wore a white dress and stood in a small church in Victoria in front of what remained of my family and what little he had and said 'I do' a year after that, and two years later, having caught him in bed with yet another woman, I signed my name on the dotted line and told him I wanted a divorce.

It had been two years since the day my lawyer called me and told me Bill had signed the papers, two years since I had laid eyes on the man who had promised me love and given me heartbreak. I had mailed him the ring and all remnants of our relationship; the photos, the wedding invitation I had kept tucked away in a drawer, various other odds and ends I had kept out of their sentimental value to me.

I found it tragic that we had once promised to spend the rest of our lives together and yet here we were, strangers in my office, taking each other in.

"Your assistant went on her lunch break. She knew me, I guess," he explains. His eyes follow me as I hang up my coat and drop my bag on my chair. I'll have to have a talk with Arlene about doing that again.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in a calm, clear voice. He looks good; he always looks good. His dark hair and eyes coupled with his pale skin had always managed to make my heart beat faster and they still could, evidently. "I thought you lived in LA now." Amelia had casually mentioned it to me years before, perhaps to set my mind at ease about running into my ex-husband at the supermarket or at one of our usual hangouts. Los Angeles was far enough for me. This was too close.

"I'm in town, shooting something for the next- nevermind." He shakes his head with a slight smile, probably remembering that I rarely remember the names of movies or their lead actors. It used to drive him crazy.

"So you thought you'd drop by?" I ask slowly, wading through the memories that have flooded back; Bill's lips against mine, my wedding dress, his dark hair in contrast to my white pillowcase, the tan ring I got that first summer and our wedding night and the way he had laughed when he told me he loved me and his form under our covers with someone who was not me... oh, time to stop.

He nods, "maybe go for coffee?" Leaning forward eagerly in the chair, he smiles at me.

"Bill, no." I can't help laughing a little and he gets that confused look in his eyes like he has too many questions and instead is going to wait for me to explain myself. "I-... Bill, we didn't exactly part on the best of terms. I'm sure you remember that time you fucked someone else in our bed, don't you?"

"Sookie, please don't be like this." He's chastising me. It's so self-righteous that I have to take a minute to briefly run through our past, to make sure that he was the asshole, the one who messed up, and that I was the idiot who fell for him.

"I'm sorry, like what? Like I don't want to be around you after the way you treated me?" Sighing, he looks away. "Why are you here, Bill?"

"I told you, I'm shooting-"

"Here in my office, Bill." My ex stands up and takes a few steps towards me, his light jacket making a shuffling sound with his movements.

"I missed you."

"And you couldn't pick up a phone? Add me on Facebook? People do that now, y'know." Standing in front of me where I'm perched on the edge of my desk, he brushes a finger down my jaw.

"You wouldn't have answered my call. Or accepted my friend request," he laughs a little bit. "You used to love me and now you won't even call me back."

"Yes, well, that was before I found you in _my_ bed with somebody else. And you haven't called," I add as an afterthought.

Bill considers that with a raised brow, "I was afraid Amelia wouldn't tell you I called."

"She cares about me," I retort.

"I care about you."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"I still love you."

I inhale sharply, gathering my thoughts before I can say, "I'm sorry. But there's nothing here, Bill. Fool me once and all that."

He regards me quietly. "I'm not giving up on you."

"That's your choice," I tell him. "But you're wasting your time, Bill."

"I don't think I am," he whispers, lips curving up in a small smile. He leans forward and I turn my head at the last second, flexing my hands instinctively when I feel his lips brush against my cheek. Meeting his gaze, I say nothing as he says good-bye and heads out.

It isn't until he's gone that I realize the vase on my windowsill wasn't filled with roses when I left.

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When I left Bill, I went on all sorts of different kicks in the process of getting over him. "Get over him" was the mantra by which I lived through my health kick and organic-foods-only kick and vegan kick (that one lasted about a day. I love my steak.) and, last but not least, my Margaret Atwood kick. I figured a borderline-insane feminist author would be very supportive, and hell, hating men didn't sound like such a bad idea at the time. "A divorce is like an amputation: you survive it, but there's less of you", Atwood had said in one of her books. Sitting motionless in my friend Claudine's living room where I was staying for a few weeks, I had let the words reverberate in my skull. Atwood was on to something; when you let yourself love someone, when they reciprocate, you let them become a part of you. I had gone into the relationship hoping for the best, married him with the belief that he would always be a part of me, and yet a bad decision and a signature on a piece of paper had invalidated it all.

I got over him, but like an animal with its leg caught in a trap, I had gnawed that fucker off to save my life. I'd survived Bill, but not all of me had made it.

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I spend the rest of the day doing very little, giving up when I catch myself thinking about Eric Northman for the third time. My ex barging into my life hasn't made me any more of a happy camper, and I have a little conversation with Arlene wherein I tell her to please not leave Bill alone in my office ever again. I clutch absently at my stomach as I immerse myself in thoughts of my ex-husband, tears filling my eyes as the guilt washes over me like a cold shower and settles in the pit of my stomach. _Christ._ I shake my head and brush away the tears threatening to fall. It was stupid, I didn't think before I acted, I fucked up. It's all past now. With another shake of my head, I gather up my stuff and begin heading home, wishing Arlene a good night as I head to the parking lot. My office is very close to my house on West Keith Road in North Vancouver, which is a blessing in and of itself, so I'm letting myself into our townhouse not twenty minutes later. The scent of butter chicken hits me the second I step inside and I grin, mood lightening as I remember Amelia's promise to me that morning that she would cook her famous butter chicken tonight. Our shared home is a two-storey remodelled townhouse on the uphill street that is Keith Road, and it's just small enough that the rent isn't ridiculous yet big enough that we don't drive each other insane. The master bedroom upstairs belongs to me, which would have made me uncomfortable had there not been a terrace with a gorgeous view attached to the other bedroom, while my room has a view of the street. It's a fair trade, we think. I love living with Amelia because she's so laid back, so easygoing that she occasionally cleans and cooks when it's not her turn just because she feels like it, and I try to return the favour by paying for her share of the groceries occasionally. The two of us met and became fast friends working for the same designing company, freshly graduated, and when I left Bill, Amelia suggested moving in together, having had her eye on this house for some time but sure that she couldn't afford the rent on her own.

I don't know what I would have done without her. Especially on nights like these when I'm upset and conflicted and voilà, there is my best friend, cooking my favourite food.

"Honey, I'm home!" I call playfully, grinning.

"Oh, Lucy, what did you do today?" I hear Amelia call from the back of the house and I practically hop into the kitchen.

"Oh, y'know, worked, met a hot client, found my ex waiting for me at my office." Amelia, who is wearing an apron and stirring chicken in its sauce, drops the wooden spoon and it hits the edge of the stove and flips, smattering sauce on her apron and on the floor where it falls.

"Shit, fuck," Amelia curses and it's a testament to just how shocked she is by my news. I grab a paper towel and clean up the sauce while she rinses the wooden spoon and dries it, dabbing at her apron with another, damp paper towel. "Bill?" She has to make sure once she can return to the food and I nod, getting plates to set on our dining table. I tell her the story, stating the part about Bill calling me as a question and receiving her half-guilty confirmation. Reassuring her that I appreciate her gesture and am not mad, I let her anger on my behalf soothe me to the point where I can take a step back and view the incident objectively.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?" Amelia seethes, forking some salad into her mouth, eyes flashing dangerously. "After all the shit he put you through? He loves you?" She makes a frustrated sound and stabs a piece of chicken, swallowing it down with a swig of Diet Coke. We continue discussing Bill until we sit down to watch Supernatural, the only show that we ever watch together, at which point the topic is switched to Eric Northman, whose gorgeous... everything has refused to leave my mind.

"Ooooh, girl!" Amelia grins suggestively and I throw a cushion at her, blushing. "He asked you out to lunch?"

"He didn't _ask_ me anything, he suggested... it was convenient."

"You don't _suggest_ to have lunch with somebody you just met that you don't have any interest in," my friend points out sagely.

I shrug, leaning forward to set down the now-empty glass of Coke on our coffee table. "I don't know. I got the impression he's a bit of a player." Amelia's face falls so dramatically that I have to laugh, and I explain to her that he was too confident, too smooth, his home was too much of a bachelor pad for it to give the impression that he was interested in anything more than sex. By the end of my rant, she is pouting.

"It's not a big deal!" I laugh at her. "He's still very pretty to look at. I'll just have to stay on my toes."

"Stay on your toes 'cause he's tall?" She waggles her eyebrows and I consider throwing something heavier than a pillow at her. We return to the show, absorbing ourselves with the attractive men on the screen instead of the ones in our lives. Later, I wash my face and slip into sweatpants and a t-shirt before sliding under my covers. Half-asleep within minutes, I briefly wonder if Eric can hurt me like Bill did and then shock myself back to consciousness with how forward my mind is before drifting off to sleep for good.


	3. Affection and Imperfections

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: He-ey! Look at that, it's an Eric-POV! I originally wrote this as a regular Sookie POV, but I wanted to try my hand at this and I ended up liking it more. Enjoy; comments are always welcome.

* * *

_Well, I guess it would be nice,_

_If I could touch your body._

"Faith", George Michael_  
_

* * *

_Jesus Christ_, I think to myself when I open the door to find her standing there, looking as fucking great as I remember. She's wearing leggings and a loose men's shirt under her little leather jacket, and wisps of her hair frame her face and those eyes that I haven't been able to get out of my head in the past two weeks since I've last seen her.

It takes me a minute to remember that she's supposed to be here, that this isn't some fantasy come true wherein she opens her shirt to reveal something lacy I can rip off of her, right after I throw out... Tanya? Tamara? Whatever. That last part I have to do regardless, because "one-night stand" limits the time-span to night time, so out she must go.

I invite Sookie in and offer her a seat on my couch, picking up the trail of clothing leading to my bedroom before she can see it and closing my bedroom door behind me.

"Hey baby," _she_ purrs, slinking towards me on my bed. Christ, what is her _name_?

"Here's your clothes," I hand them to her, watching her face go from seductive to disappointed in a blink of an eye.

"But I thought we had a good time," she whines, pouting in a way I can only guess is supposed to be flirtatious.

"Look, Tanya..." I pause a second, waiting for a flash of anger in her eyes that doesn't appear. Cool, Tanya it is. "We did have a good time, but remember that talk we had? This is it for us." Her face burning witha mix of embarrassment and God know what else, she tugs on her clothes and turns towards the door.

"You forgot this," I call, her thong dangling from my finger, knowing full well that she had been planning on leaving it behind as a memento. Her face darkens and she grabs the underwear from me, stuffing it into her pocket before stalking out of the room. Rolling my eyes, I follow her, avoiding Sookie's gaze as I do. Tanya whirls around in the hallway outside my apartment, her good humour having returned to her. Oh, lucky me.

"Call me?" She suggests 'sexily'. It's not sexy. I just shot you down; 'sexy' no longer applies.

"Sure," I say anyways and close the door before she can pounce on me again. I hate the clingy ones. I much prefer it when they disappear in the mornings without me having to make an effort. At least the clingy ones are better than the ones that get up before me to fix breakfast; those I _almost_ feel bad about because of the effort they go to in order to hopefully distract me from the fact that it's morning and they should be out of my apartment by now.

Sookie is settled on that ugly couch that I let Pam coax me into buying once I've turned around, and I have to say it has never looked this good. I briefly let myself imagining how good it would look if Sookie was naked and writhing with pleasure under me, but decide to leave that for another time because she makes a comment about me being harsh which, judging by the look in her eyes, means she thinks I'm a total dick.

"She knew better." I shrug and any other woman would have left it at that, but not Sookie.

"Than to expect a little affection?" She's teasing me, I can see that, but just underneath her smile she's judging me, categorizing me into a little column labelled _Player_. I find I am not okay with that and head to the kitchen to busy myself with the espresso machine, intent on making her more of those lattes that made her cheeks flush with happiness. I know a coffee addict when I see one.

"Than to expect anything more when I made sure she was clear on my intentions last night," I tell her, recalling just how clear Tanya had been.

"Do you always keep your one-night stands this well-informed?" She crosses her legs and over the granite countertop, I notice the soft pink polish on her toenails.

"Men who bring women home with the promise of something more are just desperate douchebags." Something I am not, thankyouverymuch. "I won't stoop to that level. The women I bring home _always_ know what I want, and they agree to it when they are sober." How likely they are to take me seriously... well, that's not my problem.

"Such a gentleman," she comments and I have to admit, it hurts a little bit. I add the shot of espresso to the second mug of hot milk and carry them both to where Sookie is settled, putting one down in front of her. I tell her that at least I'm not dishonest and she inclines her head, letting this one go as I sit down a touch too close for it to be professional. She doesn't seem to notice though, and I steer the conversation to business, carefully remembering to call her 'Ms Stackhouse' and she corrects me immediately.

"Sookie," she smiles.

"Sookie," I repeat slowly, tasting the syllables and discarding the more formal title as I've been told. She shudders and I almost smile, pleased with her reaction, but then she pulls herself together and plunks her massive binder onto my coffee table, showing me page after page of brightly-coloured fabric pieces and various sketches of how she has envisioned my living room, my dining room. It all looks fantastic, I have to give her that, but then she leans into me, gesturing enthusiastically as she motions at various parts of my home, telling me what she sees, and I'm entranced by her. Her eyes glow and her hair saturates the air with the scent of her shampoo and I can _feel_ how warm she is this close to me that suddenly I just have to get up, get away from this- this _woman_ who doesn't look at me like she'd rather be ripping my clothes off and instead is showing me just how passionate she is about her job, just how good she is at it. I pop up and gather our mugs, saying something about being hungry and French toast and she buys it, though she looks surprised that I'm actually about to cook for myself. I ask if it's okay if she moves to one of my kitchen high-chairs and she does, graciously gathering her binder to move closer to me.

"Would you like some? I promise you it will taste good," I grin at her, ignoring my half-interested cock as I locate the eggs and bread and the other ingredients on autopilot.

"Oh, I had a big breakfast, but thanks." She smiles at me, her pink lips curving up and I have to turn back to the food, busying myself with the pan and the bread and the eggs, making her another latte while I wait, all the while picking my favourites out of the designs she's showing me. I grab a plate for the French toast and a glass of orange juice before sliding into the chair next to her.

"Breakfast in the afternoon, really?" Sookie teases a while later, fingers drumming on a drawing of my kitchen.

"I love breakfast," I smile because I can't even help myself when she smiles. "Breakfast food is the best." And then, just because I'm an idiot and can't be normal for an hour, I add, "Besides, it's made all the more enjoyable thanks to the beautiful woman I'm sharing it with." There. I throw out some random woman and then flirt with her, all within an hour, and predictably enough the warmth in her eyes dissipates with disapproval as she points out that she isn't eating. Shot down and more than a little pissed with myself, I say, "Someday." She doesn't seem to realize that it's as much of a question as it is a statement and turns back to the work at hand, running through the last couple of pages and then we are done and she's walking out. I follow her to the door like a helpless puppy, almost grabbing her wrist to press her against the wall and kiss the air out of her while she locates her bag and turns to face me once in the eighth floor lobby. Too late, I realize I've bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and then I want to laugh because she doesn't look put off, she looks _shy_. Her reaction surprises me, because even though she disapproves of my attitude, I suddenly realize she's attracted to me too. "I hope to see you soon, Sookie." I cock my head to the side, the barest hint of a smile on my lips as she says good-bye and hurries to the elevator, punching the call button. I wait until the metal doors slide shut behind her before closing my own door and slumping down to the ground, leaning against the wall.

I, Eric Northman, thirty-one years of age and infamous womanizer, have a crush.

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It's near dark by the time I park my car in the exclusive parking spot behind my club and head inside, sighing in relief once I'm in. Eclipse, my club, is my baby and the place where I'm most comfortable, where I can accomplish the most work and I can't help smiling as I take in the club as it rarely is: deserted, _clean_. The dance floor is bereft of dirt and the bar is gleaming with cleanliness, the simple silver furniture in stark contrast with the dark gray of the walls. The multi-coloured, seizure-inducing lights that are usually on during business hours are replaced by the regular variety, and it lends a certain mundane air to the place. Satisfied with the state of the establishment, I head back through the inconspicuous door that leads to the back of the club, running into Pam as she walks out of her office.

"There you are!" Pam's eyes are blue slits of disapproval. "So kind of you to show up!"

"I'm only a little late, Pamela. Calm yourself." I can't help rolling my eyes. Pam is the co-owner of the bar, though her share in it is considerably smaller than mine. This doesn't keep her from trying to boss me around as much as she pleases, and though she's actually very good at her job, I tend to disregard her more obsessive tendencies. We both know how to run a business, and we work well together, but it doesn't mean we have to agree on _everything_. Mommy and daddy may fight every now and then, but that doesn't mean they don't love you.

Pamela scoffs at me and stalks away, clearly more put out than usual, and I chalk it up to her on-again, off-again girlfriend Thalia having pissed her off.

"Ya look beautiful!" I call after her, laughing out loud when she flips me the bird but knowing that I've just put her in a slightly better mood. Still chuckling to myself, I head to my office and flip open my laptop, settling in for a hard night's work.


	4. Friends and Admissions

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Alright, so, clarification time: chapter 3, which was entirely in EPOV, was not a retelling of Eric and Sookie's first meeting wherein they were introduced; it was their second appointment where Sookie, having gained some insight as to what Eric wanted his home to be like, returned with sketches and ideas and whatnot that reflected Eric's likes and dislikes.

I hope not too many of you were confused. Please let me know if things still don't make sense.

Having said that, we are back to SPOV with chapter 4, and this is a short one but the next chapter will be up VERY soon. Promise. Comments are always more than welcome.

* * *

_Well, all the odds are,_

_They're in my favour._

_Something's bound to begin._

"Maybe This Time", Cabaret (the soundtrack)_  
_

* * *

Amelia laughs at me when I tell her about the kiss, and I have to run through the story in my head once again to make sure there wasn't any blatantly funny part that I'm somehow missing before she explains that she's enjoying the perplexed look on my face.

"What?"

"Well, Sook, he kissed you because he realized you were attracted to him." She explains with a shrug, "And I mean, look at you. You're pretty and smart and talented; I can see why he's attracted to you too."

"But I'm _not_ attracted to him!" I argue and my friend shoots me a look that conveys how very unconvincing she is finding me. "Okay, fine, he's _physically _attractive, and he's not evil, I guess, but he just seems like such a _douchebag_."

"Doesn't mean he can't change though," Amelia shrugs and flips absently through the Ikea catalogue on her lap, feet propped up on our coffee table.

"Oh no," I laugh quietly, "I'm not letting myself fall into _that_ trap again. I made the mistake of thinking I can change a man with Bill and it got me nowhere, so now I'm taking a less Do-It-Yourself approach to men. I'm all about the 'No Assembly Required' now."

"You just came up with that metaphor 'cause of the Ikea catalogue, didn't you?" My friend grins and I can't help but burst out laughing at how spot on she is. We continue our teasing conversation, exchanging light banter until she turns to me, serious once more.

"But really, Sook. You're more hung up on him than you realize and you're not a naive nineteen-year-old anymore. Don't you think maybe your subconscious is seeing more than your conscious mind is?"

I have to sigh, and then I turn on the couch so I'm sitting cross-legged and facing her before I say, "Look, Mel, I love you, okay? But just because you're thinking that Tray might be the one doesn't mean that you have to find _me_ a soulmate, too. I can handle the thought of you being happy even if I'm not."

"But you deserve to be so happy," she whines.

"So one day I'll find a guy who makes me happy." I reason, "It doesn't have to be today and it sure as hell doesn't have to be _this_ guy, so can we please just drop it?" She grumbles some more but drops it, and I turn back to the movie we had put in before we started talking. Monday nights are movie nights, which usually ends with us just talking and ignoring the movie entirely. I find myself thinking back over the past two weeks, since Bill's return and my first meeting with Eric Northman, and then I remember I have something else to tell Amelia.

"Bill sent me more flowers."

Amelia makes a frustrated sound, "Seriously?"

"Yup. Roses again. I guess he's running out of ideas."

"Jesus Christ," she mutters.

"And he wants to go for dinner this Friday." She just gapes at me and I continue. "I said okay."

"I'm sorry, I think I may have just had a stroke because I'm pretty sure I heard you say you're going out to dinner with Bill."

"Nope, no stroke." I smile hesitantly, but Amelia gives me such a dirty look that it fades quickly. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" She's trying to remain calm, I can see that, so I try to explain to her.

"I need to tell him about... what happened. I never told him, he never found out."

"So you're going to tell him over dinner?" my friend asks incredulously.

I exhale, "He doesn't realize. He doesn't _see_ just how much shit there is that I can't get over. Unless I tell him, he'll always think that it was just the fact that he was cheating on me, and that isn't it. I want to tell him so he will drop it, so he will finally just let me go." She doesn't say anything, but rather watches me with eyes that are suddenly sad and I have to look away, to get up and make her snap out of this mood. "It's fine," I say abruptly, "I'm just trying to get him to leave me alone, and this is the only way."

"Alright, Sook."

I deflate at her easy acceptance. "Please don't look at me like that," I beg quietly and she obliges.

"I wish you'd let me just beat him up for you. It'd make us both feel better, you know," she says with a mischievous smile and I relax.

"I couldn't let you do that; the movie studios would probably sue you for damaging their precious lead actor."

Sighing dramatically, she mutters something about having no luck and things go back to normal, much to my relief.

8888

I insist that we go somewhere more casual and finally Bill gives in, accepting the fact that I rarely like to dress up to go out for dinner, and that since I've finally relented and agreed to go with him, maybe he should do his best to keep my happy.

The actual dinner part of the night goes by smoothly enough, as it should, since we spent so many years being comfortable in each others' company that it's almost like second nature to us, but there's still that tangible chasm in between us, the chasm of divorce, and we limit our interactions to 'polite' as opposed to 'friendly'. Having finished dinner, we head outside for a walk and soon the wine has me spilling the beans. I tell him about the other half of the story, _our_ story of the last day of us as a couple, and his complexion pales to the point where I think he's going to faint but he doesn't. I expect anger, but there's nothing on his face except for shock and maybe I'm just a bit grateful that I won't have to be there when his emotions finally hit him because he drops me off at home and I mechanically go through my bedtime routine, showering and brushing my teeth and crawling under my covers only to stay awake for hours, running through what I told him over and over until I fall asleep, emotionally exhausted.


	5. Realizations and Decisions

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: See, I told you it'll be up very soon.

Comments are, as always, so very much welcome.

* * *

_Me, I'm used to being tired and bloody._

"For The Nights I Can't Remember," Hedley

* * *

Here is what really happened.

Bill and I lived in a decently sized apartment in North Vancouver, thanks to the money he was already bringing in from the various acting jobs he was getting. Something about his classic good looks and sincere charm made him a favourite with all the casting directors he met, and it certainly helped that his method was practically flawless.

This talented, handsome man was mine, I reminded myself on a daily basis and would smile, kissing him on my way out the door every morning.

We were happy.

I thought we were happy.

That Wednesday night, I came home late like my position as a junior designer in the firm I worked for occasionally required of me, the junior designer being barely superior to the interns. Our apartment was dark and Bill had only been home for a couple days since his latest stint in LA as a guest star for some TV show that was to air in the fall. It had been so warm that day, so unusually muggy for Vancouver, that every move I made was slowed, comically sluggish to the point that even my footsteps had been diminished. Maybe if it had been warmer, I would have walked faster, my flats smacking the old hardwood floors the same way they always did and maybe I wouldn't have walked in-

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was hot, is what I'm saying. In the grand scheme of things, this is irrelevant, but like a survivor of some horrible accident, every detail of that day was forever etched into my mind. I can tell you what dress I was wearing that day, how I had barely remembered to shave my legs that morning in the shower, how I excited I had been for the appointment I had made with my doctor in secret in order to surprise Bill, and then how excited I had been when, my suspicions confirmed, I could finally give Bill the good news. I can even tell you what brand women's jeans it was that was tossed in the corner of my living room, right next to the deep blue Lacoste shirt that I had bought for Bill for his birthday a couple of years prior. These are the mundane details, the ones that I think about occasionally that don't have much of an effect on me, other than the fact that I no longer like how Lacoste polos look on men and I wouldn't be caught dead wearing Guess jeans. But these details, they're harmless. Painless. I don't mind them all that much.

It's the other things, the other details, like how I realized there was a foreign perfume in the air when I let myself into our apartment, and the image of the scattered clothes on the floor, the slightly ajar door that gave me a view of figures moving in our expensive off-white sheets, and the sound he made when I gasped in a manner that was decidedly different from the gasps his partner was letting out. His body shot off of hers and he stood facing me, body shimmering with sweat, eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. He might have said my name but my eyes snapped to the woman covering herself with the sheets and shooting me the same deer-in-headlights look as my- Bill.

Here is where my mind grants me reprieve.

I remember the burning sterile smell of the clinic, the scratchy cotton gown, the rustle of the pillow under my head, the bleeding, the emptiness, and then the guilt. I remember assuring the nurses that I didn't need anyone to drive me, that I could take a cab home (though 'home' no longer held the same connotations) and, before that, lying that I couldn't afford a baby, that I didn't want one, that I wasn't mother material.

I remember the expression on Claudine's face when she opened the door and took in my tear-streaked face, her own face pale with worry because _he_ had been calling her as relentlessly as he had called me until I turned off my phone.

I don't remember much else. Thank God.

So that's it.

That's what happened.

A week later, I got myself a divorce attorney and Bill signed the papers once he had found me unwilling to forgive him for a second time. I made sure he was out of the apartment when I went back and packed up all of my stuff with the help of Amelia and Claudine, leaving behind my keys on the Formica countertop.

He could have the apartment. Compared to the other stuff, it was nothing.

I survived Bill.

There was just less of me for it.


	6. Missions and Completions

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Comments are very much welcome.

* * *

_I've run out of complicated theories,_

_So now I'm taking back my words._

_I'm preparing for the breakdown._

"Miss You Love", Maria Mena

* * *

I awaken and take a minute to try and remember the events of last night, hazily running through my day before everything clicks into place and I recall my dinner with Bill.

"Ooooh," I grumble and bury my face in my pillow. It took me two years to finally admit to my ex-husband about my pregnancy and abortion, the latter of which was instigated by my discovery of his infidelity. His expression when I told him flashes across my mind and I wince, the guilt I've struggled with for the past two years rushing to the surface of my mind. Running my hand through my hair I check the time before hopping out of bed to begin the day. Dressing quickly, I pull my long hair into a messy bun and apply a bit of makeup before heading downstairs. I made pancakes yesterday, so today it's Amelia's day to fix something and I grin when I discover the eggs and bacon she has served up in a plate for me while she takes a shower upstairs. The breakfast has cheered me up sufficiently that by the time I put the plates in the sink and head out, I'm humming lightly to myself. My good mood lasts until I walk into my office where I'm met with Arlene's guilty expression and Bill in a scene that has become far too familiar in the past couple of weeks.

"Good morning, Arlene," I smile at the former and she shoots me a small apologetic smile. "Come on in, Bill," I sigh and he follows me silently past the partition.

"Sookie," he begins quietly but I continue to ignore him while I hang up my coat and put my bag away. "Sookie," he repeats.

"What can I do for you, Billy?" The pet name slips out and I flush.

"I'm sorry, Sook." His dark eyes meet mine sincerely and I walk to lean back against my desk in front of him. "Last time, when I apologized, I just wanted you to take me back because I loved you and I needed you to change your mind about the divorce."

"But now?"

"Now, I'm just sorry, Sookie. I'm so very sorry for all the pain I've caused you, for all the mistakes I made in regards to you... Sook, I love you but I know you don't feel the same way and that you probably never will, but I just needed you to know that." Looking down, I notice the teardrop fall and I hastily wipe at my face only to discover more appearing almost instantly. "Sookie, don't cry."

"I'm trying," I chuckle tearily and when he steps forward, I let him take me into his arms.

"I'll never forgive myself for how badly I messed things up," he whispers, shaking his head.

"It's okay. I mean, it's not really," I laugh softly, "but... it will be." Gently, I disentangle myself from his arms and step back with a small smile.

He regards me warmly for a moment before saying, "I'm done here. We wrapped up on Thursday."

"So you're going back?"

"Yes, my flight is tonight. I was going to move it if something happened at dinner, but I can see I was hoping in vain." I feel a flare of irritation at his attitude but suppress it to wish him a safe flight home, and we say good-bye.

Returning to work once he's gone is easy; I feel calm and in control, even though I never like to think about the abortion and had expected it to unsettle me more severely, but I'm fine. The fact that Bill now knows is comforting and I consider it a chapter of my life that I had dragged out and have just finished. _On to the next_, I tell myself, amused, as my thoughts drift back to the incident with Eric earlier in the week. I had told Amelia about the woman he had thrown out, and she had seemed genuinely _hurt_, like his actions were personally insulting to her. She had grumbled unhappily about jerks and worthless men and had trudged upstairs while I, having already accepted and moved past the cruelty with which Eric had acted, watched in amusement. It was none of my business what he did in his private time; he was nothing more than my client, and yet I hated that he'd had to go and ruin my little fantasy of him being perfect. I shrug and begin responding to emails on my laptop, absently observing that there's no point in me being upset anyways; he's nothing more than a pretty face and getting to ogle him is pretty much all I want from him, even if he clearly wants something more.

I'll get this job done, design him his freaking dream apartment, and then I can move on.

8888

Once my designs are all finalized, I like to take only a couple of days to realize them, carrying them over from paper to the space I've been given.

I meet with Eric Northman at my office about a month after our very first meeting to make sure he is pleased with everything and that there are no last-minute changes he wants made, and then pick a date for him to move out and leave his house for me to redecorate in its entirety. His apartment would have taken longer than usual thanks to the sheer size of the place, but he assures me that he is fine with the hiring of additional workers to paint and carry furniture so that I'll be done in the standard two days, and so it is quickly decided that he'll evacuate his place and leave it in my hands the following Thursday.

This is probably my least favourite part of my job; the part where I hire others and have to order them around, when a part of me wishes I was physically capable of doing everything myself just so it could all be perfect, and I want Eric's apartment to be _perfect_ more than I've ever wanted anyone else's to be.

I have hired enough people to cover two shifts and so we can work until nearly nine at night, by which time all the walls are sporting brand-new paint jobs that will dry by the next day, if they haven't already as a result of being painted earlier in the day. By the end of Thursday, I'm so exhausted that I barely have the energy to drive home and crawl under my covers, showering be damned.

Friday morning is the same story all over again, except now we can start moving in furniture carefully into the rooms where the paint has dried, and I have to run around the place to supervise the various tasks being completed. Despite the fact that the workers aren't me, I have to admit that they're all efficient and we do manage to move everything in by the time the sun is setting, though the paint is still drying in some places. I hand out the cheques I owe and soon it's just me in the apartment, sweaty and tired beyond words. I wander around from room to room, checking details one last time to ensure everything is as it's supposed to be before I let myself sink down onto the King-sized bed in the master bedroom. I lay down, promising myself that I will get up in a moment but before I know it, I'm asleep.

8888

"Well, look at that, the first sweaty woman to lie in my new bed."

My eyes snap open and I sit up fast enough to make myself dizzy, finding Eric standing in the doorway of his bedroom wearing a smirk.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. The workers just left and I just thought I'd lay down-" I ramble but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"It's fine. The place looks fantastic," he smiles charmingly.

"Oh, yeah," I say dumbly. "You think so?" He nods and takes in the decor of his bedroom before sweeping his eyes over the rest of the apartment from where he stands. Just as discussed, his living room is decked out in sapphire blues and emerald greens and ruby reds, the walls white to keep it from being overwhelming. Colourful throw cushions add patterns to the otherwise-solid furniture, while the shaggy rugs match the walls in their neutral tones. His bedroom only boasts reds and burgundies, while his bathrooms are themed blue. The kitchen is yellow.

All in all, it's probably my favourite job.

"I think it looks brilliant," he muses, clearly impressed, and I feel myself blush, pleased with his reaction.

"Well, thank you." He inclines his head and I suddenly realize that I'm still on his bed. Hastily, I clamber off and stand in front of him, smoothing my shirt and my skinny dark-wash jeans.

"Do you like Thai food? You must be hungry," he asks over his shoulder as he heads for his newly-redesigned kitchen, removing various Styrofoam containers from a plastic bag.

"Oh, thank you, but I really should get-"

"Are you serious?" He asks incredulously, though a smile softens his features.

"Excuse me?"

"This is the third time you've turned down an offer to share a meal with me. You're starting to make me think I'm horribly disfigured or something." His smile turns into a lopsided smirk that tells me he is just as aware of his perfection as I – and the rest of the female, heterosexual population – am.

"No, that's not it at all." I laugh awkwardly, not sure how to explain it.

"Then what is it?"

"Look, it's fine, it's just-"

"Just tell me," he cocks his head to the side, clearly curious, and I sigh.

Pulling on my fitted leather jacket and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I say, "Look, you're... you're something of a player." He opens his mouth to speak but I continue, my words tumbling out in a rapid stream. "I could tell the first day I walked in here because there are no photographs of girlfriends and your house is clearly just for you. A bachelor pad. And you have a different unused toothbrush in your guest bathroom every time I visit, which means that there are women you have sex with, that stay here for the night and don't come back. And then, the fact that you threw out a woman while I was here just confirmed it, and that's... fine. It's how you want to live your life and, who am I to judge you, right? But it's not me. I'm not the one-night stand type of girl and a one-night stand is what you want from me. But it's not going to happen; you're my client, and now I'm done working with you so the only thing that's left to do is for you to pay me for my services and then we can go our respective ways, okay?" His expression is no longer playful and polite, instead he looks thoughtful.

"I used to have a wife," he murmurs and nothing, not even a truck bursting through the wall to crash into me, could have surprised me more.

"What?" My voice is small and his eyes flit up to meet mine, his lips curving again. "What happened?"

"Not divorce, let's just leave it at that. I'm telling you this to show you that you're not the only one who got screwed over by life. I don't know what happened to you, but you're not the only one. And the rest of us, we accept the shitty hand we were dealt and move on, we don't spend the rest of our lives considering ourselves superior to everybody else because of the things we went through."

I scoff, disbelief painting my features, "_You_ are telling _me_ to stop being superior? You, Mr. Cocky Bastard?"

"There's a difference between being openly cocky and letting people prove themselves equal to you, and dismissing everyone because you deem them inferior without their having a chance to prove otherwise."

"And I proved myself worthy?" I sneer and he nods.

"You'd be surprised at how many don't."

"Well, gee, colour me flattered. I am so thrilled I managed to meet your standards. Now if you don't mind, I have to go continue proving myself to the world. I will get Arlene to contact you about the outstanding fees," I add, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter.

"My people will call your people," I hear him mutter as he follows me to his door and gives me a curt nod. "It was a pleasure working with you, Ms Stackhouse."

"Likewise, Mr Northman," I nod formally and turn away, hearing the door click shut behind me as I step inside the elevator.

In my car, I lean my head against the wheel and take a minute to steady my breathing and erratic heartbeats before I can drive away.


	7. Revelations and Anticipation

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Just wanted to take a moment to say that this story is un-beta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine. Having said that, comments are more than welcome =]

* * *

_Honesty is what you need,  
It sets you free,  
Like someone to save you.  
Let it go,  
But hurry now,  
There's undertow,  
And I don't want to lose you now._

"Someone to Save You", OneRepublic

* * *

"Sookie, c'mon," Amelia begs for the hundredth time, and I'm starting to feel guilty that I'm being such an anti-social bitch to my best friend. "We're starting to worry about you, you know. I mean, if you're so hung up on him, why won't you just call-"

"Amelia," I hold up my hand to stop her: I don't need to hear this rant again. "Stop. Fine, I'll come clubbing with you guys." My friend lets out a squeal at a pitch I hadn't thought physically possible for anyone above the age of five and dashes off. I can hear her calling Claudine to let her know that yes, she has convinced me and that yes, she will ensure I look hot tonight. Laughing, I shake my head and head into my bathroom to take a quick shower, knowing full well that Amelia will come bursting into my room to "help me get ready" just as soon as she has finalized her own outfit for the night. I'm right, of course, and she barrels in just as I'm stepping back into the room wrapped in a towel, and heads for my walk-in closet.

"Christ, when was the last time you went shopping," I can hear her muttering as I pull out my favourite set of black lacy underwear from my dresser and slip them on before covering myself with a silk robe: a rare indulgence.

"I don't _need_ to shop, I have enough stuff as it is." Joining her in the closet, I proceed to show her a few dresses I've never worn and then stand back as she narrows my options down to two: a black one and a bright pink one. Apparently, I need to make a statement tonight, and it's either going to be dramatic or slutty.

I opt for black and dramatic, and then wait for her to pick my accessories, content to just let her play dress-up with me as her bemused participant. My makeup and hairstyle also influenced by my friend's decisions, the end of the next hour finds me dressed and ready to go.

"Where are we headed?" I ask once we're both in my car, finger poised over the GPS. Amelia gives me the address and I punch it in, the voice of Morgan Freeman (or someone who sounds suspiciously like him) directing me to a place just off of Granville Street. We bicker light-heartedly over which radio station to listen to, though we end up settling on my preference ("Driver picks music, shotgun shuts her cakehole"), and a little while later we're pulling into an underground parking spot a block away from the club we're supposed to meet Claudine at. There's a cool breeze blowing by the time we make our way to the entrance of the establishment in question, and I inhale through my teeth as I feel it raising goosebumps on my bare thighs. Amelia soon locates Claudine standing in the line leading inside and we join our friend who, thanks to some very lucky genes, might as well be Angelina Jolie. Claudine was my roommate at the University of British Columbia, a six-foot, D-cup, Playboy bunny-type whose sweet personality and sincere kindness made it almost forgivable for her to be so hot. She also happened to be the one who dragged me out of the slump I was in after my divorce. Once I'd moved from living temporarily on Claudine and her boyfriend Colman's couch to the place I still shared with Amelia, the other two girls had struck up a friendship, brought together by me, and the three of us had become inseparable.

Tonight, Claudine is dressed in a striking tiered skirt that stops just above her knee, a powder-blue tube top and heels that she definitely doesn't need as the finishing touch, while her jet-black locks hang down her back in casual waves. Several men subtly watch her from the corners of their eyes, their interest evident before we have even made it inside the place. Amelia and I exchange knowing glances, fully aware that our friend is entirely clueless as to their piqued interests: she only ever has eyes for her now-fiancée Colman. It's a little sickening, in a they're-perfect-for-each-other-and-I'm-jealous-but-happy-for-her sort of way.

However, it's Claudine's good looks and the little bit of cleavage Amelia and I are willing to flash that gets us into the packed nightclub, and soon Claudine is surrounded by men willing to ignore her engagement ring and asking her to dance with them (and she does, though always graciously blocking any further advances that are made), while Amelia and I head to the bar once she insists I need to loosen up so I can dance. The place is practically overflowing and the music is loud, the steady thumping of the beat providing a surreal outlet for the hoards of men and women who work nine-to-five so they can blow off a bit of steam on the weekends. Or the ones that have enough money to live their entire lives blowing off steam; whichever. Regardless, I find myself relaxing before we've even reached the bar, because I love dancing and I love my friends and here, within these walls, thoughts of almost-relationships and ex-husbands are not allowed.

Or so Amelia told me in the car.

Eventually, the bartender reaches us and asks what we're having, Amelia asking for a grasshopper while I'm trying to pick between my usual gin and tonic or a cosmopolitan when a horribly familiar voice says, "Whatever she has tonight, it's on the house, Chuck." _Oh shit_, I think as my eyes flit up to meet the sapphire-blue ones I knew would be there, and I'm not disappointed. He grins at me and I suddenly feel like somebody's dinner. "Hello, Sookie." Ignoring him for the moment, I tell 'Chuck' that I want a gin and tonic, and that it _won't_ be on the house, thank you.

"What are you doing here?" I manage to call loud enough to be heard over the music while Amelia takes up a supportive position behind me.

"I work here," Eric Northman offers enigmatically.

"As what, male entertainer?" Amelia quips and I elbow her in the ribs without looking back. Clearly amused, Eric's eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head.

"No, I tend to hire those guys." Seeing my inquisitive look, he adds, "I'm the owner." It's a good thing I am just being handed my drink because otherwise, I probably would have dropped it. I push exact change to the bartender and shoot Amelia a look over my shoulder, one that clearly says _Did you know about this?_ Her wide eyes are clear indication that she did not and, satisfied that this isn't some attempt by my best friends to instigate something, I turn back to Eric.

"Must be a pretty good business," I comment to him, all nonchalance.

"It is," he nods. "Good enough that I can afford overpriced interior decorators for my apartment."

"Hey!" I scowl, offended, and Amelia bursts out laughing behind me, telling me the she's going to be on the dance floor when I'm done. A little sidetracked by the insult, I let her go without a protest before looking back at Eric, whom I find smirking. "I am _not_ overpriced. I worked very hard to design you a _bachelor pad_ with style for all your future conquests." I emphasize 'bachelor pad' venomously and his eyes cool. He grabs my arm and I panic because he's so much taller and stronger and there's absolutely nothing I can do to defend myself as he leads me to the back of the bar and into what I can only assume is his office. He nods at the single leather couch but I remain standing when he releases me and he makes a frustrated sound and leans back against his desk. For the first time, I realize that the emotion in his eyes is not just annoyance and anger, it's _hurt_. _I hurt him_? I ask myself in confusion. _What did I do?_

"What do you want?" I ask out loud.

"We can hear each other better here," he explains curtly. "Now listen up because I am so fucking tired of being jerked around by you." Um, one more time for Sookie; what? "It's none of your business who I bring to my apartment, got that? You have no say in how I live my life, so you need to back off."

"_I _jerked _you_ around? Me? _You_ were the one who flirted with me without even hiding the fact that you fuck a different girl every night. _I _turned you down. And if it's none of my business, why even bother telling me? If my opinion is so easy to dismiss, why make the effort to put me in my place?"

"Yes, you jerked me around, and I'm making this effort because that appears to be the theme of the month with us. I make the effort and you ignore it."

"Oh, you made an effort? Refresh my memory, won't you?"

"Yeah, I did. If you'd taken half a second to pay any attention to anything past your superiority complex, you'd realize that I haven't brought anyone home in weeks."

"And why should that even matter to me, Mr Northman?" I ask, my tone scathing.

"Because I _fucking did it for you_."

"Don't yell at me," I snap back immediately and he reins himself in. "Why?" I ask quietly, having clamed myself down as well. "Tell me why." Eric seems to deflate, his sparkling blue eyes practically darkening as he chuckles bitterly to himself.

"I don't know," he admits quietly.

I consider that, consider the fact that in admitting something to me, he let me have something over him. He stopped bringing girls home for me? It makes no sense, I think to myself, that he would do that. Is it possible that there was more to his various invitations for me to share meals with him than I had realized? Also, for the first time, I consider his words from over a week ago when we had our fight: am I really dismissive? I had been so deeply hurt by Bill that I have barely been with anyone for longer than a few months, and I was always the one to break it off once the relationship reached a stage where I felt emotionally compromised. The very thought of being more than just physically intimate with someone had terrified me; physically intimate I could handle. I've always know that I'm pretty, curvy in an appealing way, without being conceited. It's just a fact, I'm pretty. I don't _depend_ on it to get me out of parking tickets or bad marks in classes or anything, but my acceptance of it had made me self-confident even in my teenage years, and it had made the idea of sex less terrifying than it could have been. So physical intimacy was fine, it was the emotional stuff that got my heart racing, and not in a good way. I probably could have tried, I tell myself, thinking of a couple of men in particular who were nice enough, kind enough that they deserved at least an attempt on my part to open up to them, but I hadn't bothered because in my mind, they were generic, the men who pulled out my chair and listened to me talk about my day.

Not one of them had stuck around, offended at my dismissal, thinking they deserved more even though they had picked me up and taken me out to dinner in fancy cars, covered up any less-than-flattering stories of exes, been charming and sugar and spice and everything nice.

Until Eric, that is. Eric who'd thrown out a one-night stand in front of me, who'd flirted incessantly, who'd actually insisted I tell him why I had declined his offers. Eric who had called me out on my bullshit and then fixed the things about him I had problems with, while I remained clueless, until I no longer had anything to complain about. Eric who is still standing in front of me looking frustrated and handsome and maybe even a touch vulnerable.

"Well, if it helps, I'm in the same boat as you," I tell him because it's the truth: just like him, I just _don't know_.

That seems to calm him, as if the very idea of me having a mental foothold over him was slowly killing him, and now that he realizes we're on a level playing field he can calm down. We both remain silent, having nothing to say or perhaps not knowing what to say, and I decide it's time to take the seat he offered me minutes before and sink down onto his couch.

"Would you like a drink?" He asks formally and for the first time I notice the small liquor cabinet in the corner of his sophisticated office. Seeing as to how I left my paid-for drink out on the bar when he dragged me back here, I accept his offer.

"Gin and tonic?" He poses the question before I can specify what I would like and I laugh lightly, nodding. "Nothing girly for you, eh? No little umbrellas or fruit wedges."

"I figure if I'm going to drink, there's no point in half-assing it," I explain and he laughs warmly. I find I like the sound of it; it's not a booming laugh but it's deep and genuine and I wonder if there's anything else I can do to make him laugh again.

"Not a big drinker, I'm guessing?" His voice is quiet, warmth struggling to get past this veil of awkwardness we created with our admissions, and he mixes my drink and hands it to me, taking a seat beside me while holding his own drink which appears to be just Coke.

I thank him but shrug, "Not really. I got really drunk on Halloween in grade twelve and I remember just thinking over and over again 'I just want to be sober'. It was the worst," I chuckle, "and I guess I just stopped seeing the point in doing something I _know_ will end in me bent over a toilet." Having said that, I take a sip and swallow before letting myself taste the liquor. I find gin and tonics tend to have a less sharp taste to them, but I still don't enjoy the bitter aftertaste.

"That's remarkably wise of a seventeen-year-old," he comments, leaning back on the couch. My eyes drift over the length of his body, his sprawled black-clad legs and the curve of his torso that is a result of him being slumped against the back of the couch. He's _gorgeous_. With a mental start, I realize I'm staring and snap myself out of it.

"I guess. It was fun enough to watch my friends get shnockered and say ridiculous things," I smile, recalling more than one incident involving rum and a friend being brutally, hilariously honest.

"Shnockered?" Too late, I realize I've let slip my silly name for getting thoroughly trashed, and blush. "Shnockered," he repeats, eyes sparkling in amusement. "I like it." At that moment, my clutch begins vibrating and I shoot him an apologetic look as I retrieve my Blackberry to see Amelia's name flashing on the screen.

"Hey Mel," I greet, suddenly ashamed that I abandoned my friend to talk to Eric.

"Sookie, where are you?" Amelia's breathless voice comes through. The lack of background noises leads me to assume she is no longer inside Eclipse.

"In the back of the club," I offer, not wanting to specify who I'm with, but she seems to understand my meaning regardless.

"With Eric?" She doesn't wait for a response, "Look, Tray just called me and his sister has gone into labour and her husband's out of town so he has to drive to Surrey to take her to the hospital because there's nobody else and he wants me to go with him. He's almost here to pick me up and Claudine already left because some idiot spilled his drink on her." It takes me a second to absorb the torrent of information, but I finally nod.

"Oh okay, that's fine, you go ahead." I'm a little worried that I'm suddenly left alone with Eric. I mean, not that either one of them were in the room with me, but just the thought of having my friends in the same building was calming.

"I'm so sorry. Are you okay with him in there?" Tray's muffled voice joins Amelia's, asking her a question, and her lack of a vocal response makes me assume she gestured at him in response.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. I'll just drive home by myself. Don't worry about me," I assure her as warmly as I can manage.

"Thanks so much," her relief is evident and I feel guilty for acting like an abandoned puppy.

"Give my best to Tray and Maria."

"Will do. Love you, bye."

"Love you." I hang up and put the phone back, snapping the beaded clutch shut before meeting Eric's eyes again.

"Is everything okay?" He asks cautiously and I briefly explain what has happened. "Ah, well, mazel tov."

Bursting out laughing, I say, "I can make a really politically incorrect joke about someone with blonde hair and blue eyes saying something Jewish, but I'll refrain." Eyes dancing, he grins like he knows exactly what I was going to say and I have to smile back. We're so comfortable in that moment that I have to look away because this isn't good. I glance at my glass and find it empty. When exactly did I finish it? This is _not_ good. Abruptly standing up, I discover just how much of disadvantage not drinking regularly has become: I waver on my feet after just one drink and Eric jumps up to steady me.

"I should go home," I mutter and give the couch a once-over to make sure I haven't dropped anything.

"You can't drive," he tells me with a frown and I groan. _Dammit_. "I'll drive you."

"What, no, Eric, you have work."

Shrugging, he leaves me to fetch his jacket, another black addition to his all-black ensemble, and says, "One of the perks of owning the club I work at is the ability to leave whenever I please. Besides, I'd rather miss work than have you kill yourself driving drunk." A part of my mind tells me there is a flaw with his plan, but I'm suddenly tired and a little tipsy, so I just incline my head and thank him. Disappearing for a moment, he asks me to meet him by the front door and I oblige. Ten minutes later, we begin walking through the late-night crowd of Granville St towards my car.


	8. Release and Recoil

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Timeline: there was about two weeks in between Sookie first meeting Eric and the Eric POV wherein they met again. There's about a month between the first meeting and the day Sookie completes Eric's apartment, and about a week in between their fight in his apartment that day and when they meet in Eclipse in chapter 7. Just felt like that needed clearing up.

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_Where were my senses?_

_I left them all behind._

_How could I turn away, away?_

Kelly Clarkson, "Save You"

* * *

Eric isn't drunk when we leave the club, hasn't drank because he was working, but I'm sort of buzzed as we walk the block or so to the underground parking. Briefly wondering if he will even fit into my car, I disguise a chuckle as a cough and, smiling as if he can read my mind, he opens the passenger-side door for me and hops in himself, smoothly pulling out of the parking spot.

"Where are we going?" I ask when he turns right instead of continue heading down Granville Street towards the Lions Gate Bridge that leads to North Vancouver, though I already know the answer.

"My place," he answers smoothly and I tense. Glancing over, he smiles playfully, "How about a drink in a place _not_ crawling with horny drunk people?"

"_Your_ place is the prime location for non-horny people?" I arch a brow and he grins.

"Don't worry, I won't take advantage of you," he promises before shooting me a teasing look, "unless you ask nicely." I make a noise of disbelief but protest no more, quiet as he turns onto Davie Street and into his building's underground parking. We take the elevator upstairs and he opens the door for me, gesturing me inside before taking my lead.

"Can I take your jacket?" He asks like a gentleman and I can't help smiling as I let him help me slide out of my tailored leather jacket so that I'm left in my dress and heels, the latter of which I kick off, earning myself a nod of approval from him. I absently run my hand down my dress, loving the delicate beading on the fabric that stops just below my pelvis to make way for the silk ruffles that stop mid-thigh. It really is a gorgeous dress, and one that was enthusiastically approved by Amelia. Brushing past me to flick on the lights, Eric comments that I look beautiful and I look at him in surprise, shocked at the sincerity in his words before I blush and thank him. Inclining his head, he asks me if I want anything, a beer, wine, something stronger perhaps? Taking stock of the buzz I already have, I opt for wine and he smiles, pouring us both red wine and, too late, I realize how romantic I've just made the evening. Seeing me wandering over to the glass door that leads onto his balcony, he suggests we sit there, on the wicker chairs that were part of my design, and I accept, opening the door because his hands are full. The full moon is bright enough that we are both comfortable without the lights on and settle ourselves in the chairs, making small talk as we gaze over False Creek at the shimmering mess that is Vancouver at night.

Soon we're both left with empty glasses so he disappears only to return with more wine and a few glasses later the alcohol and I have coaxed and goaded Eric into telling me something – anything – about him that I don't know, remembering his ominous reference to a wife, and so he begins to speak. His parents moved to Vancouver when Eric was eleven. He loves Canada, he really does, and even though he missed what little family he had back in Sweden, it was okay. It's life. He grew up here, graduated high school, went to Carlton to study Business and, having done that, at the age of twenty-two he decided it was time to move back to Sweden, if only to stay for a few months and decide what he was going to do with the rest of his life. His uncles were delighted (his parents had no sisters) and he took turns staying with them, scattered as they are throughout Sweden. His cousin had this friend, though, and she was beautiful. They fell for each other faster than he thought possible and Eric proposed, having already decided to stay in Stockholm to be with her, her being The One 'and all that sappy bullshit'. His words, not mine. Two years later, she was pregnant.

Sara, was her name. Sara. He repeats it, tasting it, and then dismissing the name as the mere memory that it is.

Meanwhile, I wait for the inevitable, the tragic ending, and he doesn't disappoint because one day in early spring, Eric left for work at the small firm that had just hired him and Sara stepped into the shower, five months into her pregnancy. She stepped, slipped, and never woke up. He says this with a bitter smile, like "Hey, this was my life. Look how many words it took for it to end". Hours later, Eric discovered her body under the stream of the still-running shower, her life washed down the drains with her blood.

He doesn't tell me any more, doesn't have to. I can't imagine what it must have done to him, to lose his wife, his child, just like that. Happily married in the morning, barren with loss in the afternoon. It's like a bad tagline to some overly-dramatic movie, I think to myself, saddened by his words because his loss is so much greater than anything anyone should ever had to endure. His head rolls towards me where it's leaned back on the wicker chair, and he smiles, his gaze shockingly sober considering how much he has had to drink.

"Now you know," he murmurs to himself and before I know it, I'm spilling my guts, pouring my heart out to this man who trusted me with his pain and I can't help but to return the favour. I tell him about Bill and his ex and how I forgave him just a few months before my Gran passed away, and how I rarely ever see my brother and how I married Bill just so I could divorce him two years later, tearing up when I tell him about being pregnant, about being rash and getting an abortion hours after discovering my husband in bed with someone else. By the time I'm done telling him about Bill's return and subsequent departure, he's kneeling in front of me and pulls me into his arms, my body slumping into his because I've never told anybody this; the ones that know witnessed me going through it and the ones that don't have never mattered enough. I'm crying now, the tears falling steadily as he begins kissing me and I respond enthusiastically, my tears drying on my face as he lifts me up and carries me inside to his bed. The comforter is pulled away and clothes are tossed aside and I don't even care if my dress gets wrinkled because his body feels so good against mine that I gasp and tug him out of his boxers, moaning when his head drops down to nuzzle my breasts once my bra joins the rest of our clothes on the floor. There is a breathy voice chanting his name and it's me, so the voice gasping my name must be his and I shudder with pleasure when we're both finally naked and our hands are free to roam as they please, mine traversing the topography of his muscular back and shoulders while his rub and tease expertly, eliciting moans and gasps from me. He groans something about condoms and I let out an unhappy sound when he leaves me to rummage around in his beside drawer, handing me the small foil square at my insistence. I take my time stroking him, looking up to see his head fall back with pleasure before I rip open the packet and slide the latex onto him, kissing his chest in the meantime. There are indents next to my head in the mattress where his hands are when he pushes me back down and he moves one hand to the crook of my knee, pulling it up to meet his body. Grinding my hips up in a desperate attempt to feel more of him, I only succeed in making him chuckle darkly and bend down to claim my mouth, more gently than before.

"Eric," I murmur and he makes a desperate sound and pushes in, not roughly though I still gasp and need a moment to get used to the feel of him. My fingers dig into his biceps and he waits, releasing my leg in order to brush my hair back from my forehead.

"You okay?"

I exhale sharply and nod, the vocal confirmation falling from my lips as I move my hips under his and he responds with an appreciative groan. Our bodies quickly fall into a rhythm, hips moving, chests heaving, climaxes approaching as he ducks his head to tease my nipples and it feels so very good, good enough that I briefly wonder at how mediocre my previous experiences will be in comparison to him, to the way he touches and murmurs compliments and _feels_ inside me. His hand has moved back to my leg and he bends it closer to my body, adjusting our angle with it and the other legs follows, tilting my hips upwards and I gasp at the deeper penetration.

"Look at me, lover," he orders and I have absolutely no problem with meeting his bright blue eyes, seeing the intensity in the way he looks at me.

"Eric, I'm so close," I breathe and the sound that is wrenched from his chest pushes me that much closer. Arching my back, I drop my hands down to his spectacular ass and encourage him that way until one of his rougher thrusts hurls me over the edge and I come hard enough to see bright spots. Eric cries out on top of me, hand squeezing my calf as he hits his own orgasm, managing a few more lazy thrusts to ride out the aftershocks before we fall into each other, a sweaty quivering mess of tangled limbs and blonde hair. I'm desperately grateful that he possesses the energy to disentangle from me to dispose of the condom because I'm in no condition to move, ever, if my shaky legs are any indication. Wanting to curl into him, I hold back because I don't know if an amazing orgasm is permission enough for that sort of affection, but he answers that question by collapsing next to me and pulling my body into his, pushing my damp hair out of my face before kissing it. He murmurs something sweet but I'm too tired to reciprocate, so I settle for making a noise of contentment and tightening my arm around his chest before I fall asleep with my head on his shoulder.

88888

_Oh shit._

_Oh shit, oh god._

_Oh shit_.

I'm in Eric's bed. I am _in_ Eric's bed, and I'm naked, and he's tangled in the sheets just as naked as I am, and...

_Oh shit_.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, hoping that it was a mirage and that maybe it's not what I think it is, but judging by the faint headache that marks alcohol consumption and the slight soreness somewhere much lower that marks... other things, it's pretty clear what I've done, even if I didn't have near-perfect recollection of the previous night. It could always have been a dream, you know.

Gingerly, I untangle myself and set to locating all my clothing, finding my panties under the comforter and my dress tossed on an armchair, bra hanging from his dresser. I tip-toe into the master bathroom and gently click the door shut before leaning heavily against the counter to stare at my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes are there in part thanks to the eye makeup that is now smeared all over my face and I hastily wash my face before I use the bathroom, wincing as I recall just _how_ much my body was tested the previous night. My hair is a mess, though thankfully still clean, and I finger-brush it with my hands into a decent shape before stepping out.

"Sookie," Eric whispers my name from where he is now sitting on the edge of his bed, having pulled on a pair of sleep pants.

"I'm going," I tell him hastily.

"What?" He sounds shocked and I hurry to the living room to find my clutch and the car keys he returned to me last night. Following me to the living room, he pauses a few feet away.

"You don't have to kick me out, really," I smile at him weakly, finding my jacket draped over the back of his couch. "I'm going."

"Sookie, don't-" he begins but I cut him off.

"Just don't say anything, okay? Please. You got what you wanted; you got into my pants, mission accomplished. Now we're really done and there's no more reason for us to see each other, okay? So I'll..." I drift off, groping for the right note to part on. "I'll see you around." I don't give him any more of a chance to speak as I pull on my heels and hurry out, closing his door firmly behind me. Eight floors and a lobby later, I'm sitting in my car with my head leaning on the steering wheel, breathing heavily until I'm steady and can manage driving.

I don't realize I'm crying until the blurry black mass approaching at a high speed makes contact, barrelling into my little car, and I feel the wetness dripping down my face in the second before I pass out.


	9. Things Lost and Others Gained

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Pretty long chapter. The next one's even longer =]

It's all in EPOV, and comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_You were almost there, almost mine._

_They say love ain't fair, but I'm doing fine._

_..._

_I swear it's you that I've waited for._

_And I swear it's you that my heart beats for,_

_And it ain't gonna stop._

"Won't Stop", OneRepublic

* * *

_Fuck._

_Fuck._

_FUCK!_

I actually yell it out the last time, throwing a vase _she_ designed and put there in a move I regret the moment I see the glass shatter against my wall.

I don't understand why she left, I don't get why she went from pouring her heart out to me to scampering out like she's just some woman I never want to see again. Running a frustrated hand through my hair, I sink down on my couch and stare at my feet. _You got what you wanted; you got into my pants, mission accomplished_, she said. If I wasn't absolutely devastated that she ran out of my apartment like she felt nothing, I'd be fucking insulted. Even now, the anger begins bubbling once again, right under the surface, and I groan and bury my face in my hands. Without even realizing what I'm doing, I begin recounting her story of how she met her ex. She walked out and he let her, didn't even chase her. For all his bullshit about how he loves her, it took him two years to bother coming back to try and gain back her respect and forgiveness.

He let her walk away. _He_ let her go. _I _won't be making that same mistake.

Last night when I saw her walk into Eclipse, I thought I'd finally gone off the deep end, driven insane by how lacklustre all the women around me have appeared in the past couple of weeks and by the building sexual frustration that refuses to be relieved, it seems, by anyone other than _her_. She was real though – I should have known, my imagination isn't that generous – and after we got into another fight wherein I began to think that maybe she was as confused about whatever we had going as I was, she'd sat on my office couch and we'd actually talked, for the first time, about something other than my apartment. She'd looked incredible in that little dress with the teasing neckline that gave me a nice view of her breasts everytime she leaned forward, wearing the black heels that made her legs appear to go on for miles. I'd had to fight the urge to lean forward and kiss her; she'd kiss me back, I knew because of the way her eyes ran up and down my body when I'd leaned against the back of the couch, and I'd forced myself to be satisfied with the mere knowledge that she'd give in, maybe slip her tongue into my mouth, moan against my lips when my hands started to drift down from where they would be cupping her face, the back of her head, the firm line of her shoulder... Of course, that's when a certain part of my anatomy decided it was not to be satisfied with mere thoughts and began raising its head in earnest. Thank god her phone chose that moment to ring so I could attempt to hide the situation in my pants. When I offered to drive her home and then chose not to, I was fully waiting for her to freak out, to order me to turn around and head uptown but she hadn't. It seemed to me that she hid a smile from me, and I'd felt a surge of hope I hadn't experienced in so many years. The look on her face when I told her about Sara, about the son I would have had if whatever God there is hadn't decided I didn't deserve to be happy, was so shocked and then so _sad_ that I'd had to look away, to stare unseeingly up at the sky as I finished the story. _Christ, say something_, I'd begged in my mind, waiting on bated breath until I looked over and noticed the shining trails leading down her face and then she'd told me everything. And there was so much to be told, too. So much hurt and guilt and misery that she had to endure and still did, if the anguish on her face was any indication. Her voice broke mid-sentence when she told me about coming home to find someone else in bed with her husband and I remember thinking that I needed to touch her, to feel her and maybe return some of the comfort she'd given me when she'd wordlessly taken in my pain. Her hand had clasped mine and she'd squeezed tightly, holding herself together to finish the story and let me see just how much worse things had gotten for her. Her sobs were so fucking wrenching that at first I'd kissed her because it was the only thing I could possibly think of that might comfort her, this beautiful girl weeping with such intensity that I wondered how she lived her life without falling apart every damn day. The passion in her lips when they began responding to mine terrified me for the half-second it took me to realize that I _wanted_ her more than I'd ever wanted anyone, needed to feel her skin against me, her fingers in my hair, her body around mine. The sounds she made, the way she touched, how she felt against and around me had all felt so incredible, so surreal that I'd found myself murmuring to her that she was amazing, that she's beautiful and maybe, maybe I'd loved her on top of it all. I mouthed it into her hair when she was half-asleep, and then I'd kissed her temple when she'd snuggled closer to me, throwing a leg across my hips and an arm across my chest to secure her place beside-slash-on top of my body.

And then this morning she'd freaked out and peaced out. Just in case I'd managed to forget what a slap to the face reality can be.

I'll call her office, I think, and grin as I begin looking for my phone only to realize that it's Sunday. _Fuck_. Okay, that's okay, I'll try her office anyways; maybe her assistant will be in or maybe she has gone there herself to get something or other, maybe I'll get lucky and how sweet will that be? It's much better than waiting until tomorrow to call her. Though, if this doesn't work, I can always just show up at her office Monday morning. These thoughts flash through my mind while I find my wallet and tug out the worn business card bearing the contact information of Bayou Designs in a cursive font. The phone rings for so long that I move the phone from my ear to press End when I hear the distinct click that lets me know the call has been answered.

"Hello?" A hoarse voice asks, and then there's a sniffle. It's not Sookie.

"Hey, Arlene, is it?" Sookie's assistant pauses before confirming that she is, in fact, Arlene. "Great. Look, I'm looking for Sookie and I was just wondering if maybe you'd be able to help me." I slow down my sentence, thickening the words with charm because this is not going to be easy. Unless Arlene is. I'm entirely unprepared for Arlene to break down in heaving sobs however, and I'm at a loss because what exactly am I supposed to do _on the phone_? "Arlene, what's wrong?" That sets the floodgates open and, amidst the explanation of why she's at the office in the first place that I don't need nor care about, she tells me that Sookie was in a car accident, that she just got the call from Amelia, and that Sookie's been taken to Lions Gate hospital in North Vancouver.

I don't even remember hanging up the phone.

8888

Quelling the urge to break something else when I realize my car is still at Eclipse takes impressive restraint, but I manage to rein it in even though the cab I call for takes twenty minutes to show. And then, of course, there's construction so Georgia St is down to one lane just before it widens and curves into Stanley Park, and God forbid the traffic run smoothly on the Bridge from the Park to North Vancouver because then I might get to Sookie before I lose my mind. Having finally reached the hospital just over an hour later, I have to lie to some bitch of a nurse and say that I'm Sookie's fiancée before she'll tell me if Sookie's okay, and then I'm running to the stairs because no way in hell am I waiting for an elevator and thank God Sookie's only on the fourth floor and I work out because the stair thing could have been a really stupid move, romance aside. Her room is at the end of an impossibly long hallway, and I have to slow down before people start thinking I'm somebody's worried mother, timing it perfectly so that by the time I reach the sitting area conveniently located outside of Sookie's room, I'm – not _hurrying_, no – striding purposefully. Amelia and that other chick from last night – Claudine, my mind supplies – are both there, along with two guys that I assume are the two women's significant others. Amelia's eyes narrow when she sees me and she asks me what I'm doing there.

Good question, Amelia. Here, let me tell you how I'm pretty much head over heels for your friend whom I've only known for like, a month. Sounds legit, right?

"I heard she was here," I say instead, curt but polite. Now the centre of attention, my eyes flit from the Scooby gang to the closed door of room 449. "Is she in there?" Claudine nods, eyes gentle as she shoots me a small smile, having warmed to me because she has no doubt deduced that I care about her friend. Meanwhile, Amelia's guy is shooting me a suspicious look while Claudine and her man seem content to just sit on one of the generic, uncomfortable couches and murmur softly to each other.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Tray," Amelia chastises quietly and _Tray's _jaw tightens stubbornly. He's a big guy, skin darkened from the sun and shirt more-than-hinting at how muscular he is, but his attitude makes me quickly size him up and decide that I can take him in a fight; I'm taller.

"Eric Northman," I introduce myself, offering no more because really, I don't know what to say.

"She was driving from your house, wasn't she?" Claudine's soft voice interrupts our staring contest and I look at her: she isn't really asking. I nod anyway, after a slight pause. "Have a seat," she gestures at an armchair with a bitter smile. "Join us." The fact that she finds it acceptable for me to be here is comforting, like I've found myself an ally in the face of Tray's hostility and Amelia's indifference, and while I couldn't give less of a shit what they think of me, Sookie would probably not appreciate me getting into a fight with her friends when she probably doesn't even want me here. Sitting down, I nod in acknowledgement at Claudine's man and he extends a hand towards me.

"I'm Colman, Claudine's fiancé. It's nice to meet you." Taking his hand, I return the sentiment and bam, I've got another ally. Suck it, Tray. "She's okay," Colman informs me, seeing my eyes dart to the closed door at the sound of muffled voices. "A concussion, a few cracked ribs, some bruising. The seatbelt saved her life, apparently. The doctor is just talking to her right now." I nod, relief washing through me even though the bitch-nurse already told me she was fine, but the details confirm it and that's a welcome feeling. I spend the next few minutes ignoring Tray and Amelia, choosing instead to text Pam and let her know that I won't be at Eclipse until later. The club is closed on Sundays and Mondays, but we have staff meetings every other Sunday afternoon at two and it isn't long before Pam responds with a scathing comment, something about me being lazy and her having to do all the work. I send her a smiley face and a heart, and the fact that she doesn't dignify me with a response only solidifies the image I have in my mind of her scowling as she tosses her phone somewhere and I smile as I put my Blackberry away. The door opens then and a middle-aged man in a lab coat steps out, followed by a stocky nurse with curly red hair. The doctor studies us four, his gaze lingering on me as he takes in my subtle isolation from the other four.

One of these things is not like the other.

"Are you the family?" He asks us politely.

"No, friends." Amelia answers on our behalf, briefly glancing at me as the only non-friend. Point taken, thank you, Amelia. "She only has a brother, and they're not close." He nods and introduces himself as Doctor Berkley, telling us that Sookie's okay, sore, a little out of it, will have to be careful, thank God she obeys traffic laws (har har), can go home in a couple of days, is lucky she has such good friends, etcetera, etcetera. I want to slap him in the face and burst into her room so I can fucking _see_ her for myself, but apparently the Scooby gang is more intent on questioning the man than they are on seeing Sookie. Eventually, Berkley leaves and the nurse tells us we can go in, but only a couple at a time to keep from confusing her, and while the other four try to decide who goes first, I brush past them and head inside.

"Eric!" I hear Amelia hiss but then hear Claudine soothing her, and I'm glad that nobody follows me in because I just want to see her, just to see she's okay and then they can do whatever it is they were planning on doing that I'm somehow interrupting. Sookie's sitting up in bed, a fancier version of gauze stuck to her forehead, various cuts on the parts of her I can see. Her hair is more mussed than it was that morning and she does look a little out of it, but seems to recognize my presence quickly enough, glassy eyes focusing on me as her eyes brim with tears. I had the presence of mind to swing the door near-shut so now I perch on the edge of her bed and take a hand delicately into mine.

"Hi," I smile at her and when a tear escapes her eye, add with a hint of desperation, "Don't cry."

"Why are you here?" She croaks and another tear escapes to trail down her cheek.

"I heard you got into an accident," I say softly. "Glad to see you're okay."

"But why would you come?" Her chin is quivering now and I desperately try to think of something to say that'll soothe her.

"Because I couldn't find my bottle opener and I was wondering if you knew where I put it last night." It's a weak attempt, a terrible joke, but she laughs a little and that's good enough for me. Leaning forward, I press my lips into her forehead and she leans into me, moving gingerly over in her bed and shooting me an inquisitive look that I answer by toeing off my shoes and joining her in the bed, Sookie's head gingerly resting on my shoulder with my arm around her. Her hand traces patterns on my chest and suddenly it's just like last night, except with more clothes and less happiness. I blame the lack of booze and the fact that her friends are literally ten feet away from the doorway: I can hear them whispering to each other. Still, I can't help kissing her hair but pull away when she groans.

"What?" I whisper, even though there's no need to.

"I need a shower," she complains and I can't help laughing. I was so upset that she left, so terrified when I found out about her accident and now so relieved that she's okay that she could be covered in scum and I would still want to hold her as we lay in her bed. I tell her so – though in a less girly way - and she giggles softly, arm tightening around my chest. Of course, Amelia chooses that exact moment to peek in. God, I hate her.

"Sookie?" she asks softly and Sookie tenses in my arms. I carefully sit up, removing my arms from around her to stand up and leave when her hand darts out and grabs mine, anchoring me in place. _Okay, this'll work too_, I think to myself. Without meeting my gaze or letting go, Sookie greets her friend delightedly.

"Sorry, I know I'm interrupting, but I just had to make sure you were okay." With that, Amelia's own eyes brim with tears and suddenly I'm the only man in a room with two weeping women who embrace each other, carefully to keep from hurting Sookie. My girl's hand lets me go to grab onto Amelia –

Really, Northman? 'My girl'? _You can man up any time now_, I tell myself while simultaneously observing that she really _isn't_ my girl, nor has she given any indication that she would like to be. Suddenly I want to bang my head against a solid surface because there's not a single fucking reason for me to be here. What is the procedure when the woman you slept with gets hit by a car the next morning anyways? I'd have to ask Pam; her Dear Abby obsession just might come in handy for once.

"We were so worried," Amelia is babbling when I snap out of my train of thoughts and I recall her conversation with Sookie the previous night about Tray's sister going into labour. Wondering how the woman and her child are but figuring that if they weren't okay, Tray wouldn't be here, I give the hand that has returned to mine a light squeeze.

"I'll be back," I murmur to Sookie and she gives me a look like I'm going off to slaughter puppies or something. "I'll be right outside, I just want to give someone else a chance to come in and see you. I'm not leaving." Seemingly relieved, she nods and I kiss her temple, shoot Amelia a tight smile and then I'm out in the waiting room.

"Did you want to go in?" I ask Claudine because I figure she takes priority over Colman and Tray and she smiles before pulling me into a hug. She's tall, only a few inches shorter than me, and I'm shocked at the level of affection she's displaying right in front of her fiancé. Colman is apparently used to Claudine's attitude because he smiles at me reassuringly.

"Thank you for caring for her," Claudine whispers to me, pulling back to smile brilliantly. "It means a lot to her, and to all of us." Taken aback, I say something about it being no problem and she stands on her tiptoes to kiss my forehead before hurrying into Sookie's room.

"Is she always like that?" I ask Colman and he laughs.

"Yes. Claudine has no problems with showing affection even towards people she has recently met." I suppose the look I'm giving him conveys my next question because he continues. "It doesn't bother me, if that's what you're thinking. There's a very distinct line between how she is with other men and how she is with me. She's very aware to not do anything that would make me jealous."

"Still, it must have been pretty strange at first."

Shrugging, he says, "I think it was. It was so long ago that I don't even remember, though. But I'm used to how she is, I trust her." I nod absently and begin sinking into my own thoughts when he speaks again. "You love her." My head snaps up and I meet Colman's serene, deep green eyes.

"Why would you think that?" I ask as casually as I can manage.

"Because I know what a guy in love looks like. I've been in love with Claudine since high school." He smiles in a way that says _You can deny it, but I'll disregard what your mouth is saying because I know better._

"I barely know her," I point out, refusing to give him what he wants. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a kind smile, he inclines his head and lets the topic drop. "You guys seem like a tight bunch," I observe in an attempt at changing the topic.

"Claudine and Sookie roomed together in university," he tells me. "Amelia and Sookie moved in together a couple of years ago, after..." He stops himself, meeting my eyes inquisitively.

"After her divorce?"

"Yes," he confirms, apparently surprised that Sookie has told me. We chitchat casually for a while more until Amelia and Claudine reappear, giving Tray (who spent the past fifteen minutes coolly ignoring me) and Colman a chance to visit Sookie. Amelia sighs and pushes her messy blonde hair out of her face wearily before sinking down onto an armchair across from me. Claudine settles herself on the armrest and puts her arms around her friend's shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

"Did you hurt her?" Amelia asks softly and for the first time, I notice the bags under her eyes and can't bring myself to be offended.

"No, I didn't." She nods, almost to herself, then speaks again.

"What did you do to her?" My first instinct is to tell her it's none of her goddamn business, but everything that I've witnessed so far about her relationship with Sookie tells me that it _is_ her business.

"She went home with me," I mutter. "We, uh... anyways. She bolted this morning. I don't know- I didn't want her to." Claudine looks at me with the same look that Colman gave me and I somehow find I'm okay with that. The other woman's expression is one of weary resignation as she nods again.

"Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but she's happy you're here and just... Please don't hurt her, okay? She doesn't deserve that. She never deserved that." She's happy I'm here? I can feel myself brightening up and have to struggle to not grin like a fool.

"I know that," I say instead. "And I won't. Hurt her, I mean."

"Thank you," she says quietly and then her eyes snap to the door through which Tray and Colman are now emerging. I jump up, resuming my role as the pussy-whipped little bitch that I have evidently become, and brush past them to peek inside Sookie's room.

"Hi," she smiles sweetly at me and I return the smile before stepping inside. We quickly return to our earlier positions in her bed, though this time I lay on my side and encircle her in my arms where she lays on her back. "I'm falling asleep," she murmurs when I lean my forehead against her temple.

"Pfft, ya lazy bum," I can't help teasing and she smacks my shoulder playfully.

"Well, fuck you, I got hit by a car."

"Language!" I scold before repeating, "Ya lazy bum" and she laughs. Turning her head, she tilts her face up, a question in her eyes that I answer by pressing a kiss into her lips.

"Thank you for being here," she says quietly and I kiss her again, but before I can pull away her lips respond and she deepens the kiss. I run my tongue softly across her bottom lip and she opens her mouth obligingly, allowing my tongue access. When she lets out the softest of moans, my swelling cock marks my cue to pull back.

"Sleep," I murmur, pressing a last kiss into her forehead and she nods, resting her head closer to mine and drifting off.

8888

My entire body is hyperaware of every sensation, every brush of my clothes against my skin, every body that briefly touches mine in the simplest of gestures, and it's all because of- _fuck_.

When her breaths finally evened out, I had slipped my arms out from under her and crept out to find only Claudine and Colman left behind, Amelia and Tray having been sent home at their insistence to catch some sleep and clean up. I'd muttered something about a work emergency and told them I'd be back later before heading out to call a cab that would take me to Eclipse. I'd lied to Sookie's friends about going there, so I might as well drop by to give my earlier words a grain of truth. Besides, I need to pick up my car. It was a waste, however, to even attempt being productive. I wander around my office, filling out paperwork but leaving it incomplete, killing time on my laptop because I really don't know what it is I'm supposed to be doing. It strikes me that I should get flowers sent to the hospital and I walk to the florist myself, ordering a bouquet that's not too outrageous, but exotic enough that it'll make an impression. Contemplating what to write on the card, or whether or not to send one at all, I settle for writing 'Best wishes, E' on a simple white card; not too warm, not too cold. The task completed, I finally head home, resigning myself to the fact that I will get absolutely nothing done until the next time I can visit Sookie.


	10. Forgiveness and Hidden Promises

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Sorry about the seemingly sappy song (hey, alliteration) choice, you guys. The song is less sappy once you actually listen to it though, so there's my defence =] Also, any flaws in the Swedish in this chapter are all mine; there's only so much you can do with the internet. If any of you can detect any mistakes, I'd love some help =]

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_If he were a number, he'd be a 5 'cause he has such a brilliant mind._

_If he were an animal, he'd be an ass 'cause he's so stubborn sometimes._

_..._

_If he were a dance, he'd be complicated like a tango._

_But if he were a song, he'd be a complicated melody, that complicated fellow, he._

_And he means the world to me._

"Complicated Melody",

* * *

The last time there were this many balloons and flowers intended for me in a single room was my fourth birthday party, I think to myself, the first birthday I had after my parents passed. This is probably a new record however, as there appear to be at least six bouquets of various flowers, ranging from daisies to one particularly exotic one with magenta calla lilies, in addition to a few of those small stuffed bears that florists carry. There's also two helium balloon floating near the ceiling by the window, both bearing well wishes. I soon discover that the flowers are from Claudine, Colman, Amelia and Tray, Tray's sister Maria (whom, I recall with a guilty pang, gave birth the night before my accident and still managed to send me flowers), Arlene and last but not least, Eric who is responsible for the breathtaking arrangement of calla lilies and flamingo flowers as well as a few others I can't identify that is settled on an armchair in the corner of my room. There are more bouquets from a few of my clients, but I find myself fixated on Eric's. Not only did he show up when he heard about my accident – which reminds me, I need to figure out how he found out – but by some stroke of luck, he's managed to pick out my favourite: callas lilies.

"He's hooked on you," Amelia tells me when she notices me staring once again at the gorgeous flowers. It's been two days since the accident, the first I've spent in my own house, and my first fully lucid one. My friends alternated staying with me at the hospital, at their own insistence, and I can't say I was displeased with their attentions, especially considering my brother dropped by long enough to make sure I'd be making a full recovery before he excused himself, claiming he had some "business" to attend to, which in my mind meant he wanted to go bar-hopping in the big city before returning to Victoria.

"He's not _hooked_ on me," I roll my eyes, my ears burning.

"He sat outside your hospital room and waited for the doctor to let us in, and then ran in there before any of us could." Amelia raises a brow and waits for any defence I can shore up in response to _that_.

"He probably just felt bad," I mumble, accepting the bowl of soup she carefully hands me. Chicken noodle, I observe, and feel my spirits lighten.

"Why, was he bad in bed?"

"Mel!" My friend grins and perches on the edge of my bed, clearly awaiting some details.

"Come on, I had to endure the fear of not knowing if you were okay, and then I had to wait two _whole_ days for your mind to get back in order, and now you're not going to give me any details? What the hell happened with you guys?" I sigh, busying myself with the food while I consider how to begin. Eventually I sigh again and meet her eyes, retelling the story of my night but skimming over Eric's story, deeming it far too intimate for me to share with my best friend. She can tell I'm holding back, however, so I just tell her that he didn't have a good life, that some of how he is now is starting to make sense to me.

"Was he good, was it good, how was he?" is Amelia's torrent of inquiry once I finish the story and I can't help but to laugh, though softly to keep my bruised ribs from hurting and the soup from splashing.

"He was good." The look she shoots me might as well have been caused by me running over her puppy. "Okay, okay, he was... fantastic. And... _endowed_. I mean, we were both a little drunk but... I mean... _whew_."

Her eyes flash mischievously but then sober as she says, "But you regret it."

"Well, yeah," I shrug and absently chew on a piece of chicken. "I mean, I told myself I wouldn't sleep with him and not only did I break my word, but I did it while drunk."

"But he _cares_ about you, Sook. We could all see it. And you told him everything? _Everything_ 'everything'." It's not really a question, she knows the answer, but I nod anyways and finish the soup. We don't speak much after that; I'm far too absorbed in my own thoughts to hold conversation. Amelia putters around my room, adjusting the flowers and the balloons in some order I can't discern and taking the bowl from me once she's sure I'm done. I decline her offer to pop in a DVD for me to watch, claiming I'm more engrossed in my book than I actually am, and eventually she leaves, telling me she's right downstairs if I need her. I twist the Byzantine-style patterned ring I rarely leave the house without around my fingers and contemplate Amelia's words, recalling how affectionate Eric had been with me. Even before my accident, in the morning, he'd watched with such shocked eyes as I'd gathered my things and hurried out. I hadn't given him a chance to get a word in because I hadn't thought he would want to say anything other than "We had a good time. Take care." Would he have said anything? What would he have said? There's a part of my that is telepathically begging him to come back, to call me, to hold me like he did when he visited me in the hospital, but I'm also terrified that he will. Eric Northman isn't the type I'm looking for; the faithful type, that is. But then again, the last time I sorely misjudged what I believed to be the faithful type, so how can I even be sure anymore? He told me he'd change his ways because of me. Actually, he told me he _had_ changed because of me. Of course, that was before I slept with him, but what if he meant it? What if, for once, instead of thinking everything said was with the intent of getting me into bed, I let myself be optimistic? Optimism had gone out the door with my marriage; I may have had relationships since then but I'd never actually managed to _trust_ a man after Bill. Justification had come easily to me: this guy always prioritized and put his orphaned sister first, this guy was my boss, this guy wore socks with sandals, blah blah blah. Maybe it's worth it, to put myself out there like I had been so willing to when I'd met Bill, because here was my second chance, one I didn't realize I would get, and I could either toss it like trash or hold on to it, hold on to _him_. But there are far too many variables; who says he would _want _to be held on to? I'm still thinking when the pain medication I've taken for my ribs begins to pull me under and I fall sleep.

8888

I awaken with the distinct awareness of somebody else in my room, quietly moving about. Opening my eyes, I discover the tall form of none other than Eric Northman.

"Eric?" I frown and struggle to sit myself up, unhappy that my hair's a mess and I'm not wearing any makeup especially when he looks like he's modelling those jeans he's wearing. Without looking back at me, Eric removes a book from my book shelf across the room from where I'm situated on the bed.

"You have _Surfacing_ on the shelf next to _Twilight_. You couldn't have picked a more ironic setting if you tried," he grins and finally turns around. My heart flip-flops at that smile and I have to force myself to focus.

"You're in my room," is my main concern and the first thing that tumbles out of my mouth.

"Yes I am," he acknowledges, settling himself in the armchair not occupied by his flowers. "Margaret Atwood? Really? I didn't realize you hated my gender."

"Um, it was a phase I went through a couple of years ago," I say dismissively and watch as he gives me a meaningful look so I know he has put two and two together. "Eric?" Having busied himself by flipping through the small paperback, he only makes a noise to let me know he's listening but doesn't look up. "Why are you in my house?" Finally meeting my eyes, he lets all remnants of his earlier humour drain away.

"I wanted to see you," he says softly. _Oh_. Oh God. "Don't worry, I asked Amelia for your address."

"Stalking would just be too far, huh?" I joke faintly.

"No, it would just be counterproductive when I could just _ask _where you live," he grins again but lets it fade. "You look good." I thank him, feeling myself blush. "How are you doing?" Placing the book on my bedside table, he moves to the edge of the mattress.

"I'm fine, just milking the last day I have off work." I try to smile reassuringly.

Frowning, he says, "You should take more days off. You run your own business, why not take more time to recover?"

"I _am_ recovered. And the fact that I run my own business is all the more reason for me to get back as soon as possible; who else is going to get all the work done? I've already missed some deadlines, I can't afford to miss more." He still looks displeased and I fall silent, unsure of what else to say.

"I wanted to talk to you about Sunday." Ice-blue eyes lock onto mine and I squirm uncomfortably.

"What is there to talk about?"

"Well, I think you owe me an apology, to be quite honest."

"I _beg your pardon?_" I can't help being incredulous at his words; what on earth could I possibly owe him an apology for?

"I got what I wanted, I got into your pants?" He quotes my own words back to me and succeeds in only confusing me further.

"Didn't you?"

"Christ, Sookie, I poured my heart out to you and all you could think about was that I just wanted in your pants?" A lopsided smirk keeps his words from the tumbling over the edge and into melodrama zone.

"I figured you were just drunk," I mumble, blushing.

"And yet you told me about your ex-husband," he says quietly.

"I guess."

"You guess?" He laughs haughtily and I bristle.

"Well excuse _me_ if I can't fucking read minds, Mr Northman. Maybe I figured your little routine was just meant to get you laid. And it worked too, didn't it?" I recoil as soon as I finish and see his eyes flash dangerously.

"My routine?" he repeats, voice barely controlled.

"I didn't mean that," I amend immediately, tensing because I hadn't meant to hurt him, if that is what I've done. Actually, there's no doubt I've hurt him. I can't believe I just called it a routine, like I hadn't realized how much it gutted him to tell me about his wife and unborn baby, how much it gutted _me_ to hear it.

"You can be so fucking cutting sometimes," he hisses and I notice his fist is clenched, knuckles white from the tension. There's something tightening in my chest and I chalk it up to the fact that I'm still a little shaken from the accident, but I'm suddenly very close to crying as I squeak out an apology. Eyes seemingly taking in my sudden mental state, he softens and takes my hand into his. The touch releases the vice in my chest and I take in a shaky breath.

"I didn't mean it. I know it wasn't... I know what it took. I understand." He nods even though his demeanour is distinctly colder than before and I struggle to find the words that'll make the affectionate Eric come back. "I hadn't told anyone about... y'know. I mean, Amelia and Claudine know because they had to keep me from falling apart," here I chuckle, a tad bitterly, "but other than that, I never actually _told_ anyone." There's another nod and I can't seem to be able to stop talking, so I ask, "So, you really haven't slept with any more random women? I mean, other than me?" I laugh nervously and he levels me with his gorgeous eyes, his response evident. Suddenly I'm feeling too warm and I shove down the comforter and gingerly arrange myself until I'm sitting cross-legged in my rolled-up sweatpants and UBC t-shirt. Abruptly he stands up.

"I should go."

"Please don't," I say without thinking and his eyes flit down to mine, one brow raised inquisitively. "I mean, you probably have work, but if you can spare some time, I mean, if that's okay, if you don't-"

"Just ask me, Sookie."

"Will you stay with me for a little while?" Or as long as you possibly can, maybe? Stay the night, the week, whatever. His lips turn upwards in a satisfied smile, though his eyes remain slightly guarded, and he asks me if I'm hungry. I glance at my alarm clock and find it's past six and all I've had today is the bowl of soup Amelia gave me shortly after noon, so yes, I'm starving. Eric offers me his hand and I carefully hoist myself out of bed, wincing at the stiffness in my hips from having not moved for so long. I excuse myself to use the bathroom and he nods, telling me he'll be downstairs. I take care of my needs and then stare at myself in the mirror, at the insane spark in my eyes and the flush of my cheeks. I look relatively decent, I observe as I wash my hands, the scent of peaches wafting from my hand lotion. My hair is clean if a little messy, but I finger-comb it into a loose bun and use an oil-absorbing facial tissue to make myself look more fresh before I head downstairs. My joints complain but eventually get used to the movement and I experimentally bounce down a couple of the stairs, smiling at the absence of pain.

"Amelia?" I call on the main floor.

"I told her she could go visit Tray's sister," Eric calls from the kitchen and I bite my lip, torn between gratitude and anger at my friend for leaving me alone with him. He's cooking, I realize once I walk into my kitchen. Or warming up pre-made soup.

"You guys don't have to babysit me," I tell him, fighting my rising indignation. Eric stirs what appears to be tomato soup and shoots me a look before correcting me.

"_She_ was babysitting. _I_ am here because I want to be." I appreciate that he glossed over the fact that I asked him to stay and distract myself with how strangely charming it is to see him, dressed in dark jeans and a red t-shirt, standing at my stove barefoot preparing me food.

"Who made tomato soup?"

"I picked up some on my way here," he responds with a small smile. It's my favourite, and judging by his smile, I'm guessing it's no coincidence that it's the type of soup he brought. I quietly tell him that he didn't have to do that and that he sure as heck doesn't have to service _me_ when _he's_ the guest. The look I get when I utter "service" in conjunction with "me" is enough to make warmth pool in the pit of my stomach, and he tells me that it's no problem but that when he gets hit by a car, he expects there to be soup. I smile and satisfy myself by making grilled cheese with the cheddar I find in the fridge. Standing next to Eric, I ignore the fact that he looks down at me every now and then, refusing him the attention he's vying for until he bends his knees to playfully bump my hip with his. It's cute; _he's_ cute, and I can't help laughing at him because it feels so natural to prepare a light dinner for both of us, talking about nothing and teasing each other. So natural that when he bends down to place a gentle-yet-firm kiss on my lips, I almost don't register that it's our first kiss since the hospital and turn my head sharply to watch him locate the bowls in my cabinet, winking at me over his shoulder. The grilled cheeses end up on the plates I set the bowls of soup on and we take our seats at the breakfast table that only gets used for its namesake meal; Amelia and I usually eat dinner on the couch.

"Oh, thank you for the flowers," I remember halfway through my sandwich. "They're gorgeous. I love calla lilies," I add and he inclines his head, clearly pleased with my reaction.

"You're more than welcome, lover." The petname falls naturally from his lips, just like it did Saturday night, and I have a fleeting image of Eric in the Victorian times, courting a woman who looks deceptively like Marie Antoinette in my mind. I find I like it, like that he didn't call me 'honey' or, God-forbid, 'babe' which I always find sounds condescending coming from a romantic partner. I briefly dated a man who loved calling me 'babe'. 'Briefly' being the operative term here. Strangely enough, 'baby' doesn't bother me.

"You've been figuring out a lot of my favourite things," I begin pointedly. "The flowers, the soup..."

"The flowers were a coincidence. The soup... let's just say I had Amelia's number," he smiles without a hint of shame and I shake my head, finding it hard to be annoyed when he's been so sweet to me.

"When did you get Amelia's number?"

"About an hour or so after I managed to get Claudine's number," he responds merrily, pops the last of the grilled cheese into his mouth and gets up to take his plate to the sink. Together we rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, and I turn the machine on as we wander over to the TV. He slumps in the corner of the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table before shooting me a challenging look with mischief written all over it. Challenge accepted, I think to myself and curl up next to him, hand resting on his abdomen as he wraps an arm around me. _Gone With the Wind _is on, we soon discover, and I gasp in outrage when he tells me he has never seen it.

"How can you look me in the eyes and tell me you've never watched _Gone With the Wind_?"

"I am overcome with shame, really. Truly." Eric remarks sarcastically and I thump the side of my fist on his abs. Though he jerks with the strike, his body still shakes with laughter and I turn my head into his shoulder. "How's your forehead?" he asks quietly, his lips brushing my hairline. The skin had split, or perhaps been cut by my shattered windshield, but the cut had been shallow enough that it hadn't required sutures; it would probably leave a scar, though. I tell him it's fine and he makes a pleased noise. We turn to the movie, watching the barbecue at Tara unfold onscreen.

"So when exactly did you get my friends' numbers?" I have to find out and he tells me about how he asked for Claudine's when he visited on Sunday, and then called Claudine to ask for Amelia's, claiming that he wanted to ask to come over, to see me. The smile his words evoke I conceal in his shirt, but my fingers tighten in his shirt and betray my pleasure.

"You have soft lips," I let slip when I feel his kiss on my forehead.

"Thank you." His voice is soft and it's lacking its usual playful quality. I find myself sinking deeper into the pool of contentment he's created with his presence and his embrace and the goddamn heavenly soup.

"So, do you speak Swedish?" The sudden veer in the direction of our conversation earns me a long pause before he finally responds.

"Yes." He begins uncertainly and then reclaims his nonchalance as he continues, "It was pretty rusty when I went back but I picked it up again while I was living there."

"Say something. Say something in Swedish for me."

Eric chuckles, "What do you want me to say?"

"Something nice," I grin and turn my head as far up as I can to watch his amusement grow.

"Hmmm." He shoots me a contemplative look and says, "How 'bout... Du är vacker?"

"What's that mean?" I ask, my voice playful.

"Well I can't tell you that."

"Oh no?"

"Nope. You may have gotten a compliment out of me but at least I have the pleasure of _knowing_ what I complimented you on."

"Well that's where you're mistaken, Mr Northman," I say, turning back to the movie. "Compliments, for me, are a dime a dozen."

"Oh?"

"Yup."

"And is there some daily quota you have to make every day?"

"Well, I _am_ running a little short today, but you really can't blame me. I've been home all day."

"Damn. What a burden, weighing me down."

I nod with conviction, "Yep. All the responsibility, settled on your broad Scandinavian shoulders." He practically roars with laughter while I grin widely, pleased that I've managed to elicit his wonderful, warm laugh and snuggle closer to him.

"You're beautiful," he offers unexpectedly.

"What?"

"That's what I said in Swedish. 'You're beautiful'."

"Oh," I mumble inadequately and turn my head into his chest, finding the gesture incredibly comforting.

"How's that for reaching your quota?"

"I think it can stand a couple more. Won't hurt to overcompensate, you know."

One large hand stroking up and down the length of my arm, he says, "Well, the night is young." His words serve as a reminder and I half-sit up.

"Speaking of night, don't you have work? Who runs Eclipse when you're not there?" His arm slips to my back and he strokes the line of my spine like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm taking the night off. Pam can handle the place for a night at a time. More even, but then she'd scare away all the douchey straight men who, quite honestly, have paid for my car _and _apartment."

"Just the straight ones?"

"She's into women."

"Ah."

"And she's my cousin, so you can relax again."

"That's incredibly cocky of you to assume that, you know," I comment, sarcasm dripping from my words.

"Hmmm," he smiles, still watching me.

"Wait, she's your cousin?" Eric's eyes darken as he watches his words from Saturday night click into place with his relation to Pam. "I didn't know she lived here," I finish in the end, lamely.

Hand dropping back down to his own lap, he says, "She didn't. She was visiting when I was thinking of opening Eclipse and she invested, decided to move here. My, uh... Sara was her best friend and it was pretty hard on her. On both of us." Letting the words sink in for a moment, I nudge his arm away so I can reclaim my position it his side and I feel him relax again. So Pam is the cousin who introduced him to his wife. I wonder if he harboured any anger towards her for introducing him to someone he loved and lost, or if he's simply grateful for the time he was given. Judging by the fact that they are now business partners, and the limited understanding I have of Eric's personality which makes me think he wouldn't unjustly blame anyone to appease himself, I'm leaning towards the latter.

"She sounds like quite a character," I observe lightly.

Eric chuckles, "She is. I feel like you two would get along, though. She's already mocking me over you." I meet his eyes inquisitively and he smirks but offers no further explanation. I move up on the couch, in his arms, and duck my head to kiss his chest and leave a trail of kisses over his shirt all the way to his neck where I rest my head briefly until he pulls away to be able to meet my eyes and then press his lips to mine. My palm rests on his cheek and I grant his tongue access to my mouth, giggling happily at his touch.

"I want it to be known," he murmurs between his kisses, "that I'm holding back. Because you're broken and I'm afraid of hurting you. _I'm_ holding back, me, the horndog."

"You're not a horndog."

"Oh thanks."

"You're _my_ horndog," I whisper, nibbling on his lip and he pulls back so abruptly that I'm snapped out of the happy buzz his kiss had built me. "I was having a nice moment," I complain lightly. The nonplussed look on his face melts into a grin.

"And here I was thinking I would have to work so much harder to get you to accept it."

"Accept what, exactly?"

"That I'm not going anywhere." Sitting back, I raise an eyebrow to mask the surge of warmth his words brought me.

"Well you're going tonight. I have work tomorrow morning and I need to shower and get some sleep.

"It's eight o'clock," he points out.

"I didn't say you had to go _now_, I just said you have to go." Smiling at his scowl, I lean forward to kiss him, my amusement growing when he stubbornly refuses to kiss me back. "Eric..." I cajole, moving to his neck to press an open-mouthed kiss on the soft flesh. Blowing softly on the wet circle my mouth has left, I smile at the shudder than runs through him. "Eric." I begin sucking on the targeted area and he groans to pull back. "Kiss me, please?" I beg softly, not at all surprised to see the bulge in his jeans. He mutters something in Swedish and then his mouth is, to my relief and utter joy, on mine once more.

"How are you getting to work tomorrow?" Eric asks a while later once we've managed to get our hands off of each other. In a manner of speaking, since I'm still curled up at his side on the couch with no intention of moving, ever. Thank God _Gone With the Wind_ is so long.

"Mmm," I rub my cheek on his chest, "city transit. Amelia offered to drive me but God knows she's taken enough care of me lately and missed enough work as a result, so I said no."

"Can't you take a cab?" Without even looking at him, I can tell his brow is furrowed in displeasure.

"It's not just a day or two, Eric. I still have to call the insurance company because my car is totalled and it could take weeks. I can't afford to call a cab everyday, twice a day. Transit is fine, there's a bus stop right across the street and I can-"

"I can drive you," he interrupts and I crane my neck to look at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can drive you to work in the mornings and pick you up in the afternoon."

"Eric, no you can't, you have your own life, your own _job_. You don't have time to play chauffeur."

"I'm offering, aren't I?" I'm back to sitting up once again, and quite frankly getting annoyed that I can't just lie beside him and let his breathing lull me to sleep.

"But you don't even _work_ in the mornings, you work late and you're offering to get up early, drive up here and drive me to work? And then pick me up in the evening? Besides, what if I'm working late? Are you just going to kill time and wait for me to be done? No Eric, I'm not going to waste your time that way." Exhaling forcefully, Eric crosses his arms over his chest. "Thank you, really, for the offer." I reach out to take his hand in mine, "It was very sweet, and I appreciate the thought. But it's just not very reasonable." Kissing the back of his hand, I brush my hand over the silver ring on his index finger and take a closer look, peering at the delicate design. Eric watches me, docilely letting me get distracted as I am by rings of all shapes and sizes as I study his hand.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," I comment, meeting his gaze with a smile, hiding my surprise at this particular design. I wonder if someone gave it to him, or if he even knows what it means. He takes his hand back to slide the ring off and test it on my various fingers, avoiding any potential awkwardness by not treating my ring finger any differently. With a sigh and a disgruntled look at me, he settles on my thumb and slides it on, applying gentle pressure to get it past the first joint.

"There," he nods, satisfied.

"What are you doing?"

"You can have it. Consider it a get-well gift. Or a birthday present. When's your birthday?"

"It passed. July first." I respond distractedly and he bursts out laughing.

"Seriously? Your birthday's on Canada Day?"

I nod, smiling briefly, before I say, "But I can't just accept this, Eric. It's your ring." Smiling his warm smile, Eric stops my fingers from removing it.

"And now it's yours. I would like you to have it. Didn't you say you liked it?"

"I do, but-"

"No 'but's," he silences me with a kiss. "It's yours now." Wrapping my now-bejeweled finger in my other hand, I meet his eyes ruefully.

"Eric, do you even know what this is?"

"It's a claddagh ring," he nods, almost shyly. "The hands symbolize friendship, the crown symbolizes loyalty, and the heart symbolizes-"

"Love," I finish for him, glancing down at the brushed metal shaped into a crowned heart flanked by two outreached hands. "Which is why I think you shouldn't give this to me."

"Don't think of it as love, then," he suggests easily. "Think of it as... affection. And it's not like I'm asking you to marry me, Sookie. It's just a piece of jewellery. A relatively inexpensive one at that."

"But," I bite my lip and have to force myself to continue, "where did you get it? Did someone...?" Eric stares at me incomprehensively for a moment before scoffing in disbelief.

"What, you think I'm giving you a ring that somebody else got for me?" Cocking his head, realization dawns on him. "You think I'm giving you a ring that _Sara_ got me?" I drop my head to avoid his gaze and he continues, albeit with a softer tone. "I bought it for myself, because I thought it looked cool. I didn't even know what it meant until after I got home and looked it up. I wouldn't give you something that somebody else gave me; even _I'm_ not that tactless." Seeing my blush, Eric laughs and leans forward to nudge my head up so he can kiss me, softly. "Don't freak out. It's not a love admission, it's not a marriage proposal. It's just a gift." I nod and lean forward so he can capture my lips again, and that's that.


	11. ThreeWord Beginnings

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: I have finished writing this story. I will have you know that other than this chapter, there was only supposed to be two more, one of which was to be a short epilogue. Then I got carried away and now there will be at least five more, one of which is the short epilogue. I don't know what it says about me that it took me so long to start writing longer chapters.

In other news, happy birthday to Sookie AND Canada!

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_See, I could spend forever here and never wanna stop,_

'_Cause baby, you are making my day._

_Don't tell me what it takes, my dear, to keep you in one spot,_

_I'm crazy good at finding a way._

"Shelter", Hedley

* * *

Life goes back to normal after that. Or as normal as it can get, considering all the changes that I have to get used to. Eric ignores my protests and more often than not plays chauffeur at least once a day, though a mere week later I open my front door to find a handsome dark-haired man leaning back against a blue Nissan Altima on my driveway. He introduces himself as Alcide Herveaux and I soon discover that he will actually _be_ my chauffeur for as long as I want him. When I call Eric to read him the riot act, he plays the innocent I-only-wanted-to-help-and-I'm-sorry-if-I-insulted-you card and I can practically _see_ him smiling angelically as I sigh and give in. Apparently Alcide, as I'm to call him, owes Eric a favour or two and will be repaying said favours by driving me to and from work, which includes occasionally waiting for me to finish up even when I'm working late. When I express my chagrin at this arrangement, Alcide waves a dismissive hand and tells me that he works from home and that the twice-a-day outings force him to 'endure' the human interaction that he would neglect otherwise and that really, I'm doing him a favour. I suspect this is what Eric has told him to tell me, but I pacify my mortified conscience by fixing him coffee in a travel mug every morning and saving him a donut from my mid-afternoon Tim Horton's run. Besides, he's so charming and comfortable to be around that I eventually find myself looking forward to enjoying his company for the duration of the rush-hour drive to and from my office. I quickly learn, however, based on the displeased expression on Eric's face when I gush (to an appropriate extent) about Alcide that Mr Northman is a rather jealous man, so I keep my opinion of my temporary driver to myself. The lack of a car, however, results in me moving all my out-of-office appointments to in-office ones, greatly reducing the amount of environmental variety I had come to grow accustomed to, and leaves me irritated and less inspired to do my work as well as I would like. But as Eric often points out, I was lucky.

The sheer damage done to my poor Yaris had been considerable and didn't jibe with the injuries I had suffered, much to my own relief. The first time I saw it, crushed and devastated as it was, I had taken a step back and squeezed Eric's hand so hard he had pulled me into his arms to whisper comfortingly so as to keep me from passing out, as my deathly pallor had seemed to suggest. I had left him to take care of things, pausing long enough to sign the car over to the junkyard before hurrying to Eric's car and buckling myself in to close my eyes and fight back the flashbacks of the accident. I had kept myself in check until we'd reached his apartment and only when I was safe on Eric's couch, locked in his arms, had I let myself fall apart.

That's the other thing I have to get used to; Eric. Or rather, his incredible stubbornness in steadfastly becoming the main source of my comfort and happiness, much to my own internal panic. Eric showing up with food during my lunch break becomes common, almost expected, to the point where I have to angrily remind myself that I had spent years having lunch by myself on the days when he can't make it. As my physical condition improves, Eric occasionally asks me to drop by the club and then we spend the night at his place, or sometimes he picks me up in Alcide's stead and spends the night at mine. I marvel at the absolute ease with which he integrates into my life, exchanging easy banter with Amelia, laughing at Claudine's cheerful manner, talking shop with Colman who runs his own restaurant on Granville, and occasionally even going so far as to strike up a casual conversation with Tray who continues to remain unimpressed by what he deems only a temporary infatuation on Eric's part. Tray and I get into a heated argument one evening while he awaits Amelia in our living room, and he loses major points in my book when he claims he's only worried about me, about Eric taking advantage of my "emotional vulnerability" following my ex's departure and the accident, and I coldly suggest he wait in his car for Amelia, upon whose arrival he may return inside. When Amelia walks in twenty minutes later alone and flushed with anger, my own hurt and frustration drain out and I pull her into a hug, much to her surprise, and apologize for causing a rift in her relationship. My friend shakes her head at me and tells me that Tray is having a tough time understanding my blossoming whatever-it-is-I-have-with-Eric but that she has known me for far too long to think that this is anything other than what it clearly is. Baffled, I ask her what she's talking about and she makes a _tsk-tsk_ing sound and cups my face in her hands to tell me that it's "the _real thing_" and that I need to let myself see that. That's the first night I text Eric and wish him good night instead of the other way around, which earns me a phone call and an amused but pleased Eric who is not to be outdone. The following morning there is a knock at the door and a flustered-looking teenager delivering two bouquets from an apologetic Tray, one to me for "upsetting me and judging what he has no business judging" and the other to Amelia for "being the colossal dick that he was". I burst out laughing and instantly forgive Tray, returning to the kitchen to show Amelia the large bouquet of roses and watching in amusement as she reads the card and locates her phone to call her boyfriend.

My own boyfriend – a term I can barely relate to Eric without chuckling – does his fair share of gift-giving and flower-sending, to the point where I have to sit him down and have a talk with him. The upwards twist of his lips intensifies until he is beaming at me merrily, further frustrating me because there's only one thing I enjoy less than being treated like a kept woman, and that is being treated like a child. I tell him, as diplomatically as I can possibly manage, that as beautiful as the dresses and flowers and jewellery are, if I required them I would become a gold-digger and that not only do I not expect such behaviour, I'd much rather have his company all to myself for one night than to have a BCBG dress couriered to my house. This is, of course, a subtle hint to his inability to part from his Blackberry unless I take it away or strip down to nothing in front of him, which, in itself, proves to be a problem for quite a while. Eric takes his time, following my accident, in letting things progress, physically speaking. He claims that he is worried about hurting me, and while I appreciate his concern, there is only so much time a girl can spend around a Viking sex god without approaching dangerous levels of sexual frustration. The fact that he enjoys spending the night together only to hold me or to talk does little to help. It takes almost three weeks of him pulling away just when things start to get interesting before I throw my hands up in frustration and give him the silent treatment, all the while pouting. Eric is reduced to soft nudging and cajoling and murmuring sexily, but I'm not to be deterred from the colossal fit of sulking I'm immersed in until he lifts me up and carries me to his bed, proceeding to strip right in front of me. Even then I remain hesitant, suspicious that this is just a ploy until he parts my knees and proceeds to do things to me that should not be so appealing, considering I'm still fully clothed. By the time he gets to the actual undressing me part, I'm breathing heavily and he takes a moment to press a kiss into the yellow-tinged remnants of all the bruises on my body, brushing his lips over the healing cuts and paying special attention to the one on my forehead which will no doubt leave a scar, much to my displeasure.

"It's fine," he murmurs. "You can barely see it."

"I can see it," I grumble.

"It's fine," he repeats, nudging my nose with his to smile. "You're beautiful. It's just a little scar." I can't help returning the smile. It hasn't escaped my attention that he has never said I _look_ beautiful, only that I _am_. Truth be told, a part of me is surprised by every kind gesture he makes, every sweet word that he utters because it's still waiting for him to prove the cynical me right by reverting back to his old self, or the Eric that I had come to identify as the "actual" Eric. I think he realizes this, understands my hesitance and that is why he invites me to drop by the club, to see him surrounded by women with lowered inhibitions vying for his attention and not receiving it because the moment I walk in, he removes all doubt by kissing me and then not leaving my side. For someone I had assumed to be not at all my type, or the relationship type even, he has proven himself adept at handling me, impressive considering we have known each other for mere weeks.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?" He cups my face in his hands and I squirm, unhappy that he's stopped undressing me. My shirt is tossed in a corner and my jeans are unbuttoned and I make a little sound, but he is undeterred. "Your _word_, Sookie, that you will tell me if I'm hurting you."

"I promise," I breathe and earn myself a smile and another toe-curling, soul-shaking kiss.

"Good girl," he murmurs approvingly, his lips somewhere in the proximity of my navel as I plop back onto the bed, frustrated beyond words because I can think of much better uses for both his talented mouth and skilled fingers. Lifting my hips obligingly so he can slide the denim off, he kisses my inner thigh and I decide it's time for some action to be taken in order for... well, some action to be taken. I sit back up and drag his mouth up to mine, devouring it in the most searing kiss I can manage.

"Honey?" I murmur into his lips.

"Yes?"

"I've wanted you for three weeks. Can we eighty-six the foreplay?"

Chuckling throatily, he says, "Lover, we can do whatever you like in whatever way you please," and rids me of my underwear in quick succession. Almost an hour later, we _have_ done whatever I like in every way that I please, and many that I hadn't known I would. Also, I can't wipe the grin off of my face.

"Okay," I say, to the universe at large. 'Okay' as in, 'Okay world, let's see what ya got'.

"That is the most satisfied 'okay' I have ever heard you say." I smile but have nothing to contribute so I kiss his chest, lightly dragging my fingers through the sparse blonde hair there. Propping myself up on an arm, I continue kissing his bare skin, trailing up to his neck. The noise that escapes Eric is soft and I smile, knowing full well that he likes it when I kiss his chest. His sculpted arms slip around me once again and he sits up to smoothly pull me into his lap. Legs wrapping around his waist, I smile at the growing hardness pressing against me and return to Eric's neck, mouthing at the flesh.

"Min älskade," he breathes so softly I barely catch it.

"What are you saying?" I pull back to stroke his hair, finger-combing it back from his face.

He regards me before saying carefully, "You won't like it."

Laughing, I ask, "Why won't I like it? What, are you swearing at me in Swedish?"

"You'll panic and you're far too happy right now for me to ruin your mood that way, so we'll talk about it later."

"Then why did you even say anything?" I frown, growing frustrated and ruining my mood, which I find counterproductive.

"It just slipped out!" Eric exclaims and I cross my arms over my chest, still in his lap. "Sookie," he says softly but I refuse to meet his gaze, so he puts his arms around my waist and bends down to nuzzle my neck, to press a kiss under my ear. "I _know_ you. Why can't you just accept that when I say you will panic, you will panic?"

"Because the fact that you can guess my reaction doesn't give you the right to keep things from me!"

"Why not? If I know something will upset you, I'm honour-bound to keep it from you."

"That's messed up! So if you get diagnosed with cancer you won't tell me? Or if you want to break up, you won't because you know it'll _upset_ me? That's some deeply-flawed logic." Sighing, Eric leans back on his hands and studies my expression, the determined look in my eyes, the set of my jaw and the tension in my shoulders.

"That's not what I meant, so don't tense up. If you tense up then I'll tense up and that won't end well."

"Then just _tell_ me what you said in Swedish." Groaning, Eric pushes himself off his hands and sits up straight.

"I said... uh, I called you... my beloved." I hate it when Eric's right, but he's right quite often, so even though I try to suppress it, I panic. "See, I knew it." He plops unceremoniously back onto the bed and watches me have my minor breakdown on top of him, thumb soothingly stroking the top of my knee.

"So does that mean that..."

"That I love you? Yeah Sook, it means I love you." I consider that. Three weeks. We've been together for three weeks, and before that I knew him for about a month. I decorated his apartment and then slept with him before running out to get hit by a car, after which he stayed with me and took care of me when he didn't have to, and that's disregarding the fact that he actually showed up at the hospital, sent me flowers, brought me food, got me a driver, and sent me more gifts that I could have imagined. That on top of the several orgasms I just had.

And the fact that he knows all there is to really know about me, how messed up I am, how insecure and overly independent and even occasionally scathing I can be. He knows me better than he should after less than eight weeks and knows how to handle me and is quite willing to forgive me for metaphorically slapping him in the face with all my flaws.

Shit. Fuck.

This is me panicking.

"I have to go," I say and disentangle myself from him, hurriedly locating my clothes.

"Sookie..." He sighs and sits up, defeated.

"I can't- It's just- It's not-..." I shake my head and tug on my shirt haphazardly, running a frustrated hand through my hair. "I'll-"

"Don't you ever get tired of hating yourself?" Eric snaps, interrupting me, and I step back.

"What?"

"You've spent the last two years of your life beating yourself up over the fact that you aborted the child of the man you caught cheating on you. Two years, Sookie, and you still act like you committed murder. Aren't you tired of it yet?" The shock is wearing off and now I'm just pissed. Who does he think he is to tell me how I should and shouldn't feel?

"It wasn't just _his_ child, Eric, it would've been mine, too! My idiot of a husband was too much of a horndog to keep it in his pants and instead of taking it out on him like he deserved, I took it out on the person that I should've protected!"

"It wasn't a _person, _Sookie!" He throws his hands up in the air, eyes glowing with his frustration. "You were six weeks pregnant; your baby was barely alive, she had no consciousness!"

"And I didn't give her the chance, either! I walked in on Bill and turned around and headed for the abortion clinic. Who the fuck does that? What the fuck kind of person wants a baby for years and the moment she finds a flaw in her life, turns around and throws it away like garbage? What does that say about me?"

"It says that you were hurt," he is soothing me now. Having stood up to move closer to me, his voice lowers and his eyes turn more beseeching than angry. "It says that you entrusted someone with your happiness and they broke your trust and then you made a mistake, Sookie. A mistake. We all make them. Even if we're perfect and devastatingly smart and beautiful and have our own flourishing designing business." Oh. Me. He's talking about me. He thinks I'm smart and beautiful and _perfect_. Jesus. Eric takes a step forward, large hands encircling my upper arms as he ducks down to meet my eyes. "You don't deserve this. I love you and you keep shutting me out because part of you punishing yourself means never letting yourself be happy ever again and even if that wasn't such a slap to the face for _me_, it's not fair to _you_ either, baby." I turn my head away from him, shaken because it has taken him all of two months to understand what my problem is, because he loves me, because he is right and it _is _unfair to him and he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anything less than bliss and here I am, trying to work through things that I should have gotten over years ago but never could because I didn't think I should bother. That's the only part where he's wrong; it's not that I think I don't deserve to be happy, I just never thought I could be. I was happy and my parents' car drove off a bridge. I was happy and my Gran died. I was happy and my husband broke my heart.

Shit happens. I had long since accepted it.

But he loves me. _Eric loves me_. He called me 'baby'.

And what's worse, I'm okay with it all.

"I'm sorry," I whisper because speaking any louder would betray how shaky my voice is right now and he groans, tucking my hair behind my ear, blue eyes level with mine.

"Christ, don't be sorry. I didn't say it to make you feel like you owe me an apology."

"I loved him," I blurt out. "I thought that was it for me, that he was The One and that our problems were just the flaws that made our life realistic, as opposed to a fairytale." A part of me is shrieking in horror at what I'm telling _Eric_ about _Bill_. But I have to tell him all this, there's a point to it, so I continue, delving deeper into the darkest parts of my mind, things I haven't told _anyone_. "A part of me blamed myself for leaving him, for doing what I did, because imperfections are part of life, right. That's why I hated myself; I felt like I was being too idealistic and had clung to the fairytale format of life and that was why I'd ripped my own life apart when I'd found a flaw in it. I kept wondering if the two of us could have fixed things, if we were actually meant to be, if me being unhappy now was all my fault."

"But it's not your fault. It never was," his eyes meet mine eagerly, "you realize that, right? Yeah, life is imperfect but it's not supposed to be like that. The flaws, they're not supposed to break your heart." I sniffle and make a broken sound, watching alarm flash across his handsome features.

"I'm happy with you," I begin haltingly. "It terrifies me because I trusted Bill and he broke me, and then you come along and you're... a womanizer and you're _so_ different from anyone I ever imagined myself ending up with, and I'm letting myself fall for you even though a part of me has panic attacks every time you touch me."

"I'm nothing like what you imagined?" He chuckles, not unkindly. "You crazy-feisty stubborn girl. _You're_ nothing like I imagined. It works out for us, no? We fit, like two odd puzzle pieces." Leaning into his chest, I close my eyes and breathe in the last remnants of his cologne. "I'm not him, Sookie. Don't forget that. Our differences don't just end in our looks; I'm never going to do to you what he did, and I would hope that you wouldn't expect anything less of me. Got that?" I nod against his chest and he continues. "You messed up that sentence, by the way. I _was_ a womanizer. I'm not anymore." I choke out a laugh and his arms tighten around me, pressing me into the naked warmth of his lean torso.

"You said you love me," I observe carefully.

"I did."

"You called me 'baby'."

"That too." He appears to be suppressing laughter.

"That's not okay," I muse.

"I'll stop."

I snuggle deeper into his arms, if that is even possible, and murmur, "I liked it." Eric presses a kiss into my temple, leaving his face buried in my hair.

"Good." I want to tell him that I love him back, that it's not one-sided, that I have held back from calling him 'baby' a thousand times, but it's not right. The timing's not right. You'd think him having said it would make this the perfect moment, but I don't want to have said it because he said it, I want to have my own moment for it.

"I'll stop. I'll try, okay? I know it's unfair to you, so I'll really try."

He laughs and pulls me away to say, "You're missing the point. _I_ don't matter. I love you but you don't _owe_ me anything, Sookie. You have to do this for yourself."

"It was just a mistake," I try out the words, not sure if I believe them.

"And we all make them," Eric supplies and I smile shyly.

"This isn't a mistake," I whisper, shocked at the truth of my own words.

"No," he smiles.

"This is..."

"Right."

"Yes." Yes, it is. It's _right_. "Can we go back to bed?" I ask after a long moment of him just holding me.

"Even though you ruined our afterglow?" He smiles teasingly and I groan, hiding my face in my hands. Laughing, Eric undresses me and leads me back to the bed and under the covers. Laying down on his back, he extends his arm invitingly but instead of resting my head on his chest, I prop it up on a hand and let the other hand return to playing with his chest hair, having thrown my right leg across his hips. "What are you looking at?" My Eric – I can call him mine now – asks with a bemused air. I rest my chin on top of my hand on his chest so I can look at him and he blinks at me drowsily.

"Nothing. Just... nothing."

"I think I should be insulted because you just called me 'nothing'."

Laughing, I say, "Nope, you're not 'nothing'." I can feel myself growing more sombre as I add, "You're... everything." My cheeks flush as I replay my words in my head and I bite my lip, looking away. A warm hand on my cheek gently guides my eyes back to his to find him smiling, eyes filled with warmth and happiness. Still blushing, I drop my head to press more kisses into his chest before resting my cheek on his skin. Eric strokes my hair and we stay that way for quite some time, simply being together.

Eric asks me what kind of pancakes I want the next morning, and I say chocolate chip. Saluting, he locates the chocolate chips and sets to fixing breakfast, humming quietly to himself as I watch from my seat on the high chair, having been refused all my offers to help. Running a hand through his bed-mussed hair, he pushes it out of his face and rubs at the cleft in his chin absently as he adds more to the already-heaping stack of pancakes. And I watch him, watch him pad comfortably around and make us both lattes, watch his hair fall back into his face a dozen times only to be patiently pushed back, watch the glint of the Byzantine-style ring that I wore on my thumb but that fits his index finger. Looking down at my own hand, I smile at Eric's ring on my own thumb and feel perfectly at ease wearing an old Carlton t-shirt of his as he fixes me food. Soon, a small mountain of carb and sugar is being set down in front of me along with a steaming mug of latte and I turn up my head to kiss him, stopping him with two hands on his scruffy, as-of-yet-unshaven cheeks. I brush my thumbs over his cheekbones, mentally musing that he's _handsome_. Genuinely, classically handsome with his prominent cheekbones and the clean lines of his jaw, his intelligent blue eyes and faint blonde lashes, his perfectly sculpted pink lips that I get to kiss anytime I want, for however long I want, in whatever way I want. And I want, I want him and his perfect lips and blonde lashes and prominent cheekbones, to kiss every morning and every night until I can't stand the sight of his face, but it won't matter anyways because I'm planning on holding on to him long enough that he'll change with age and I'm sure I'll find new things to love about his new, aged face. I'm sure I'll find new things to love about aged Eric, but first I need to tell him that what he feels, what he expressed last night, isn't just one-sided. I need to tell him that I want him as much as he claims to want me.

"What is it?" He asks, hands resting on my thighs, eyes almost concerned.

"Nothing. I just- I love you." His eyes widen and he looks so pleased that I repeat, "I'm in love with you. I just wanted you to know that. Because you said it and I didn't, even though I feel it, so I didn't want you to... Anyways. In case there was any doubt. Which there shouldn't have been, because, I mean, how can I _not _love you. You're... you. You're gorgeous and funny and intelligent, and that's just the tip of the iceberg because you're kind and you're- you love me." God, I'm rambling. All I had to do was repeat the three words he told me last night but instead I'm just going on and on about nothing. Well, it's something, because I'm in love and I'm loved and maybe it'll work out this time and even if it doesn't, as terrifying as that is to me, then maybe at least it won't end as badly as the last time because I love him more than I thought was possible. I love this insanely cocky, handsome, brilliant man who can drive me insane with frustration _and _want within the course of a minute. "You love me, so, yeah. I love you back." Taking a moment to just regard me wordlessly, he takes my hands from his face and kisses them both before capturing my lips with an urgency that is brand new, but that I hope never goes away.

Quietly, he takes a seat beside me and we share breakfast in a companionable silence.


	12. Comfort and Gratitude

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Another EPOV. I actually really adore this chapter for intangible reasons, so please let me know how you like it because as of now, it is the last EPOV. Also, here be lemons.

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_Remember those walls I built?_

_Well baby, they're tumbling down._

_Didn't even put up a fight,_

_Didn't even make a sound._

"Halo" (cover), Sam Tsui

* * *

**July 2011**

"Can I come over?" Sookie's voice asks the moment I answer the call and it takes me a minute to figure out what time it is, what day it is, and if there is any reason I know of that would instigate this call and the edge in her voice. I rub my eyes and push my hair back from my face. It's 2 in the afternoon on Wednesday and I really should be out of bed, but last night some idiot with too much tequila decided Chuck was giving his girlfriend the eye and therefore needed to be taught a lesson. A mistake on the idiot's part because, A) Chuck is definitely gay and if he _was_ giving a woman the eye it was probably followed up with _'Honey, that scarf is gorgeous!'_ and, B) Chuck is a black belt. I'd had to stay late at Eclipse to deal with the repercussions of having my bartender take down a patron, even if it was in self-defence, because the patron in question had chosen to press charges and I had found myself bailing out Chuck at an ungodly hour. Hence the sleep deprivation. But none of that explains why my girlfriend is asking me if she can come over, over the phone as opposed to through text and, on top of that, at a point in the day during which she should be working.

"Of course," I say, frowning. We've been together for months and even though she has a key to my apartment, she refuses to just barge into my place even though she has every right to, in my mind. "Are you okay? You sound-"

"I'm fine. Can I come over now?" She is _so_ not okay but I'm willing to drop it until she actually gets here.

"Of course," I say again.

"Have you had lunch, 'cause I haven't and I was going to grab something on my way there."

"No, but I can make something." I offer quickly, running through all the ingredients presently in my fridge and the various meals I can fix with them. "Lasagne, burgers, some form of pasta? What do you want?"

She sighs as if relieved, "Can there be breakfast food? Greasy, artery-clogging breakfast food?" I can't help smiling because breakfast food is our thing, it's what we have when there is no tomato soup which is our first choice for a low-profile night. Or day, in this instance.

"Sure," I laugh lightly into the phone.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you." I can hear her exhaling happily into the phone and I smile with the knowledge that I've lightened her mood, if only a little. "How long will you be?" Shoving back the comforter, I get out of bed and waver, unsteady with the deep sleep I was roused from.

"Half an hour? Forty five minutes?" More time than I need.

"Sounds good," I say, trapping the phone between my shoulder and right ear as I head to my kitchen and pull out bacon and eggs, among other things. We say good-bye and I set to fixing the food so that by the time Sookie knocks at my door, I've prepared eggs, bacon, grilled cheese sandwiches, and chocolate-chip pancakes. The toast pops out of the toaster as I call out that the door is open and Sookie walks in, face lighting up as she takes in the feast on the kitchen island.

"Hey, tall, blonde and culinary genius," Sookie greets me and I laugh, grabbing the biggest plates I have and piling them with the food. I have coffee brewing and I pour us both orange juice as she takes a seat in a high chair. Setting the plate in front of her, I bend down and give her more than just a brief kiss and she smiles sweetly.

"Good afternoon, min älskade," I whisper and she rests her palms on my cheeks, pulling me close for another kiss.

"This looks amazing," she muses.

"Oh, this old thing, I've had it for- oh, you meant the food," I grin, brushing imaginary dust off of the sweatpants I'm wearing. "Dig in," I wave her on and she shoots me a grateful smile while I go to pour us the coffee, joining her a moment later. Eating in silence, we rinse the dishes together like we always do and load the dishwasher before settling on the couch. I flick on the TV so we can pretend to watch while she decides to tell me about what has upset her, and for the first time I realize that this isn't over a high-maintenance client or too much traffic. This is something major enough that she refuses to curl up at my side or sit close enough for me to put my arms around her.

"Were you still in bed?" Her eyes flick to my open bedroom door and for the first time she seems to really notice my sleep attire.

"Yeah, I got home late. Long story, I'll tell you later." I wave a dismissive hand but the look she shoots me says that she'd rather hear my story first, so I launch into the short version of last night's incident, falling silent once the story is over.

"Yesterday was the anniversary of my parents' death," she whispers at last, eyes trained on the claddagh ring I gave her when we first got together. When I reach out to take her hand, she retracts it and I continue to sit silently as I await the rest. "I got into a fight with Jason. He um, went to their grave yesterday and could tell I hadn't been there, so he called me today and told me that I'm a bad daughter for not visiting their grave, for never coming over to check on the house."

"Sookie, that's not true."

"But he's right. I never go to visit their grave. Or Gran's. I just don't, I can't handle it, it's too much."

"That doesn't make you a bad daughter," I try to interrupt but she cuts me off.

"How do you know? How can you just decide?"

"Sookie, being a good daughter is _not_ about visiting the burial place of your parents. It's about living a good life and becoming a person they would have been proud of." She looks at me, her eyes practically swimming with tears.

"And how do I know I've done that?" Moving closer to her on the couch, I take her hand into mine. She doesn't retract it this time.

"You've done that," I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. "You're smart and kind and beautiful, and you're hard-working and loving. You're what every parent wants their child to become." The tears begin rolling down her face. "Don't let your brother get to you like that."

"But he's my brother, he's my family," she argues, voice thick with her tears and I pull her into my arms, her tendency to pull back be damned.

"Just because you're biologically related doesn't make you family, Sookie." I stroke her hair back. "Family is the people that take care of you, that love you, that really know you." You're my family. I'm your family. Why do you not see that?

"I'm going to Victoria tomorrow," she tells me quietly after a moment of considering my words. "Will you...?"

"I'd love to." She hasn't been to Victoria in all the months we've been together and everytime I bring up perhaps being introduced to her only remaining living relative, she dodges it by saying that Jason's too busy, that we'll meet at Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter. My own parents met her when they visited me over Christmas, and are already asking me when I'm going to propose. Of course, they don't know that I've been hiding an engagement ring in my closet for ages and that I am almost positive Sookie will say no when I ask her. The first time, anyway. Pam's money is on a 'yes' on the third time I ask, and Chuck's is on a fourth. Amelia pretended to be outraged that bets were being taken, but then put in a fifty on the first time, much to Pam's disbelief. Personally, I don't care _when_ she says it, as long as the end result is her becoming Mrs Northman. "I wanted to visit an old friend too. I booked a hotel room before I left the office."

"Sounds good," I nod. She pauses, staring down at her lap still encircled in my arms and I let her figure out whatever it is she wants to figure out. I glance at the clock and look back to find her following my gaze. It's almost four.

"Oh, I should go. Let you get ready for work," she mutters and nudges my arms away.

"It's fine. I can stay in with you."

"You can't, don't you have to deal with crisis fallout over the Chuck thing?"

"It's fine," I repeat. "I already made sure there'll be three bouncers tonight and Chuck's bringing a friend from his tae kwon do class to tend the bar with him. There won't be any trouble."

"Oh, okay." Dropping her head, she tries to hide a smile but I'm having none of that.

"Hey. Hey." Nudging her head up, I nuzzle her and kiss the line of her jaw, lightly pressing my lips into the soft flesh under her ear. She shudders under my hands and I kiss her ear, unable to keep my lips off of her. Ten months of being with her, loving her, and it's still hard to not touch her when she's around me. It's still hard to be away from her for more than a day or so at a time, to not hear her voice every day. Ten months and every time she touches me, I still feel like I'm going to combust or break apart and I'm okay with it all as long as it gets to be in her hands, as long as she's the one that sets me on fire, that takes me apart and puts me back together.

"You missed a spot," my Sookie tells me, quite seriously and I pull back in confusion to see her tap a finger on her lips which turn up in a smile.

"Did I?" I grin, catching on. "You think I should rectify that? I can't have part of you feel neglected."

"Well there are other parts of me that are feeling neglected. Those can certainly use your attentions." I gasp in mock outrage.

"I should definitely fix that. Which part? Is it... this one?" I kiss her nose.

"Uh-uh."

"No? Hmm. How 'bout..." I take her shirt off and kiss her shoulder.

"Nope."

"Damn." I continue my way down, pressing my lips to the swell of her breasts while my fingers unhook her bra, urged on by her negative responses.

"Here?"

"Uh uh."

"Here."

"Nope." I graze my teeth around her belly button and smile at her sharp inhale. Sookie squirms restlessly when I unbutton her jeans and kiss the newly-revealed V of flesh, sucking at her skin. "Baby."

"Be patient with me, min älskade." I smile in mock apology and tap her hips in a signal for her to lift them so I can slide off the fabric. I hook my fingers under the elastic of her thong and slide it all off in one go. "My gorgeous girl," I muse, ducking down to kiss the inside of her thigh, trailing kisses right up to her core. She jolts when I latch onto her clit and I place two firm hands on her hips to keep her from moving.

"Eric, Eric, Eric," she chants when I give her a long lick and her slim fingers tangle in my hair; it's the most fucking erotic my name has ever sounded. She gets worked up quickly just as I expected her to. The mood she is in always determines how quickly I can push her to the edge. Vulnerable ranks pretty high on her orgasm-receptive list of emotions, so it isn't long before she's arching her neck back and letting out a long string of vulgarities with my name occasionally thrown into the mix. It's the hottest thing I have ever witnessed, the sounds she makes when she's close and the way her hands pull on my hair. She cries out and it's almost enough for me to come in my own pants and then she's shaking, jerking against my mouth. I kiss my way back up the length of her torso, mouthing at her abdomen still clenched with her orgasm.

Reaching her ear, I whisper, "I think I found it, Sook." Shooting me a quizzical look, her face still flushed with pleasure, Sookie bursts out laughing and pulls my mouth to hers, moaning at the taste of her own juices.

"Nicely done, Mr Northman."

"Well, thank you."

"I love you."

"Jag älskar dig, min älskare."

"I love you," she breaths again and tightens her arms around me. "Was the orgasm because you love me or because you wanted to cheer me up?" Ah, smart girl.

"Why can't it be both?" I smile enigmatically and take her hand to stand her up. Reaching to undress me, she places soft kisses on my chest and I groan at the sensation of her soft lips on my skin. My sweatpants are tugged off and kicked aside, and I can feel myself harden even more at the sound she makes when she takes note of my lack of underwear.

"Couch?" I ask, giving her the choice of being made love to on a soft bed or pleasured on the couch, and she nods in agreement with the latter. "Turn around, lover." I guide her to stand with one foot on the ground with the other leg bent, knee on the couch as she leans forward to hold onto the armrest. Kissing up her spine, I steady her hips and check to make sure she's ready and, when I find her more than so, I push in slowly. She arches into me and I wrap one arm around the front of her hips and drop the other to work her in syncopation with my thrusts. She reaches over her shoulder to tangle it in my hair, tugging a little harder than usual and I moan into her skin because no matter how many times we do this, she finds a way to drive me crazy, to make me crave her. Sookie whimpers and exhales roughly and I kiss her feverishly, my hips speeding up of their own accord.

"Fuck, Eric, I'm so close," she whispers, her voice breaking and I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my own orgasm approaching me as my balls tighten. Grabbing my wrist, she moves the finger I was rubbing her with to her mouth and sucks roughly at the pad, making me come so hard that I can feel my spine extending. One more thrust and she's gone with me, crying out and curling into herself as I continue riding her through it the way she likes. The t-shirt I was wearing is on the couch and I pull out to sit on it and lean back against the other armrest, pulling her into my arms. Resting her head on my chest, she holds my hand against her stomach and we lay there wordlessly for quite a while.

"Thank you," she sighs, placing a kiss over my heart.

"For what, mitt hjärta?"

"Oh, you want me to spell it out?" She laughs and I smile at the feel of her body shaking in my arms. "For the food and the comfort and the orgasms." Her body shakes with amusement again at the last. "Oh and for loving me."

"It was my pleasure. And I do mean pleasure." I poke her playfully in the ribs and Sookie shakes her head and twists so that her back is against my chest. The hand I put to rest on her abdomen she takes up to her mouth and then proceeds to kiss every knuckle of my left hand.

"My Eric. My älskling," she murmurs and I let out a shocked laugh.

"Oh _your_ Eric, huh? And who taught you Swedish?"

"Yes, _my_ Eric. And I got Pam drunk so that she would be nice and teach me a bit." She sounds so proud of herself and I'm so pleased with her possession of me – something I've been working on by calling her mine for the past ten months – that I sit us both up and wrap my arms around her waist and bury my face in her hair. Giggling, she adds, "Oh, and thank you for coming to Victoria with me."

"You're very welcome, sötnos." I'm laying it on thick now and I grin because she has no clue what I'm saying. It's a game now, to see how much I can get away with before she starts somehow translating my words.

"You know what I like?" she asks suddenly and I make an inquisitive sound. "You're over six feet tall. And you're, what, two-hundred-and-something pounds. I mean, you're a big guy."

"You would know," I quip.

"Yeah, me and half the women in the Vancouver metropolis." She retorts calmly and continues. God, I love her. "My point is, you don't look like the kind of guy who would _do_ cute. But you do cute. Not in English though, which I suppose is the point, you're cute in Swedish. Even though I don't know what you're saying half the time, I can tell it is. And it's just me that you're like this with; you tease Pam and act cutesy, but you're... sincere with me. And I like it. I _like_ you, which in a lot of ways is a bigger compliment." This is the post-orgasm rambling, when Sookie just speaks her mind without worrying about whether or not she's losing her independence to me or if she's being too clingy or too lovey-dovey. I look forward to it every time because even if she shuts down for any of the hundred reasons, she pours out her heart after an orgasm or two. It's such a fucking relief to have her be the one to tell me things freely instead of me having to coax it out of her.

"How is it a bigger compliment, _sweetheart_?" I emphasize the English term of endearment and she shoots me a grin.

"I like that," she comments before continuing, "Because it's easy to fall in love. If you find the right person, even if you pretend that you're not and even if you try to not let yourself, you fall in love anyways when the person holds your hand or brings you soup after a car accident." Here she briefly smiles and I kiss her shoulder. "But to actually like someone, you need to have things in common, you need to only be occasionally annoyed by only a small percentage of the things they do."

"And you _like_ me?"

"I like you. I like it when you call me cutesy Swedish things, when you make me breakfast at three in the afternoon and when you take the night off just so you can comfort me when I let silly things get to my head. And I like it when you act tough but I know at heart, you're just a big softy who's crazy in love with me." Hah. Yeah, I'm a tough guy, I want to tell her. You weren't there when I couldn't sleep because I loved you and you called me a cocky bastard. I'm a tough guy who gets giddy with happiness when you tell me you love me back.

From where my chin is still resting on her shoulder, I ask, "And what small percentage of the things I do occasionally annoy you?"

Laughing, she says, "When you're unjustifiably cocky."

"As opposed to justifiably."

"Of course."

"What else?"

"When you flirt with other women."

"Wha-" My mouth opens and closes several times without releasing a sound. "I don't _flirt_."

"You smile," she shrugs.

"Smiling is flirting."

"For regular-looking men it isn't. For you, every little smile makes women swoon." I consider her words carefully; I'm not blind, I notice the incessant flirting, lip-biting, eye-fucking that women utilize to attract my attention, and it usually works. Used to, anyways. But that part of my life is over. I can't help being charming but if it bothers her, maybe I can try to tone it down. Fucking with her to invoke jealousy that she doesn't need to be feeling is not something I am interested in, nor is it what she deserves after the way her ex fucked her over. And besides, I don't need jealousy to let me know that she is interested.

"I don't care who it makes swoon as long as it makes _you_ swoon," I murmur seductively into her ear and she turns her head to shoot me an odd look.

"Does _my_ smile make _you_ swoon?"

"Your smile makes me feel things that you would not find _cute_," I promise her and she laughs.

"My _smile_? _Really?_"

"Depends on the smile," I smirk and she moves out of my arms to sprawl against the opposite armrest and taps her stomach.

"Lay down." Crawling towards her, I place kisses on her thigh and hip and stomach before lying with my head on her sternum.

"Sookie?"

"Yes."

"I want to get married." I can swear her heart skips several beats and she stops breathing in the time it takes her to prepare a response.

"And who were you thinking of marrying?" I smile; this is good, humour is good.

"Well, I was wondering if you were free. You know, for the rest of your life." My thumb is brushing back and forth over her ribs and her heartbeats are steady, if a little faster than usual. I spend enough time with my head resting on her chest to notice the speed of her heart.

"Eric?"

"Yes?"

"You just proposed to me."

"Yes."

"And you would like me to accept."

"Yes."

"So, I'm going to tell you that if you would like anything other than a whopping 'No', you better get off of me and propose like you're asking me to marry you and not like you're suggesting Chinese for dinner." Lifting my head, I try to gauge just how serious she is and then disentangle from her body to retrieve the small velvet box from where it's hidden in a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo dress boots in the back of my walk-in closet. Pam will be so unhappy, I can't help thinking, if she says yes to the first proposal. Returning to the living room, I push the coffee table aside to kneel in front of her where she is now sitting up, and pop the box open to meet her gaze with a smile.

"Miss Stackhouse, I love you. You know that, but what you don't know is that I'll love you for ever. Even when you're seventy and we bicker incessantly about what to have for dinner and who hogged the blankets last night to give the other a cold. I'll love you through every single fight we have, every single time you make me sleep on the couch and every single time you tell me to fuck off because you're too angry to even deal with me. We both know that's inevitable, but I'm also hoping that you love me enough to forgive me my cocky, insufferable self and spend the rest of your life with me, because I can no longer imagine mine without you in it, every morning that I wake up and every night when I fall asleep. So what do you say?" I pause and take in the fact that she has tears in her eyes and hurriedly add, "And before you say 'No', I'm going to tell you that I will keep asking. At least once every season, I'm going to ask you to marry me and in the meantime I'm going to tell you that I love you every single day, but that I'd love it if I could call you my wife instead of my girlfriend." There's a long moment of silence and then she cracks a smile.

"That was really good. You didn't practice that, did you?" I shake my head, amused at her reaction. "That was really good. It was really sweet. Do you think you can write it down for me?"

"I can try," I chuckle.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"And I'd love to." I think it's my heart's turn to skip a beat because I can't form coherent sentences, but I desperately want her to repeat it, to word it in a more definite way because I don't think I can stand it if I think she's saying yes but she's only saying no in a vague, gentle way. A straight up 'No' I can handle, it shows me exactly what I'm dealing with and exactly what I need to do to convince her otherwise, but I can't handle getting my hopes up and then having them crushed. It turns out not to matter because she looks down at the ring and her eyes light up softly. "Is that mine?" she asks.

"Yeah. Yes." I take the ring out of the box and reach for the left hand she is holding out to me, and I must be reverting back to the pussy-whipped bitch I was when she was in the hospital after her car accident so many months ago because my own hands are shaking as I slide the engagement ring onto her finger. For a long moment she just stares at the ring, and then she meets my eyes and grins her gorgeous eye-squinting, teeth-baring, dimple-inducing smile and I surge forward to claim her lips to mutter that I love her, that I'm hers along with half a dozen other things that Pam would mock me for if she ever found out. She laughs freely, almost breathlessly, and her hands cup my face.

"What's 'fiance' in Swedish?"

"Fästman. I'm your fästman and you're my fästmö."

"Min fästman?" she tests the feel of the foreign terms and smiles at my nod. "Would I be din fästmo?"

"Yeah, 'your' is 'din'." I can't hide my pleasure at her words and she giggles again, leans into me and wraps her arms tightly around my shoulders.

"Love you."

"Love you." Sookie lets me hold her, holds me, for so long that I don't even remember what it is that breaks us out of our bubble and makes reality set in, but as I've learned in the past little while, reality isn't too bad anyways. When tucks her head under my chin as we fall asleep that night, I want to thank whatever force there is out there that decides who gets second chances, who falls in love with whom and just how happy they get to be together, because I owe that fucker a fruit basket.


	13. Grief and Reassurance

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Firstly, Sam's restaurant is an actual place; it's an Old Spaghetti Factory across from the Royal BC Museum. Secondly, I have been to Victoria and strongly recommend visiting it if you can and have not yet. Thirdly, the Ross Bay Cemetery is an actual place, but I have never been there. The hotel is an actual hotel that I commonly stay at in Victoria. Just some random facts I thought you may like knowing.

On a side note, I just wanted to thank you, each and every one of you, who have reached out to me with your thoughts and compliments. Even if I don't always respond, be assured that I've read it all and that your words mean so very much to me.

Having said that, enjoy this chapter!

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_Who knows if I am ready or not?_

_Only time will tell._

"Who Knows", Natasha Beddingfield

_If I gave you my life, _

_Would you let it slip,_

_Through your fingers,_

_Like water in the desert?_

"If I Gave You My Life", Justin Nozuka

* * *

The next morning, Eric and I wake up early and head to my place for me to pack an overnight bag and leave a note reminding Amelia of our trip since I talked to her on the phone yesterday before we begin heading to Tsawwassan ferry terminal southwest of the city. We take the cobalt blue Mazda 3 Eric bought me following my accident last year, claiming it was my early Christmas present but accepting, albeit reluctantly, when I insisted he take the money insurance was giving me. He'd claimed that my having my own car would make it easier for me to come over, and that really, the car was his way of ensuring he'd be seeing me more often, and how could I fault him for that, he'd asked with an impish grin. Regardless, I'd relented and we had decided the Mazda was a better option for the ferry ride to Victoria than his brand-new charcoal gray Audi R8. Eric had even let me drive, seemingly content to just hold my hand and look out the window while I sang softly along to my OneRepublic CD.

"Älskling, are you okay?" I ask softly as we join one of the many line-ups of cars that will be directed to the ferry at the scheduled hour of eleven.

"Hmm, yeah, I'm fine," he smiles at me and then looks over at my left hand which, the car being parked, is now in my lap.

"You're just very quiet. Not changing your mind about me, are you?" I grin even though a small part of me isn't quite joking.

"Never." Reaching for my left hand, he kisses it and holds on to it by turning in his seat. "I'm just thinking, that's all. And I'm comfortable; you driving, you singing along to your music in your car," he shrugs, "it's soothing."

"I called my friend Sam yesterday to let him know we're coming. He's an old friend, we've known each other all our lives, and I told him about you."

"What did you tell him about me?" He asks, sliding down in his seat to make himself more comfortable and kick off his shoes.

"I told him I might be bringing my boyfriend," I laugh, "because that's what you were at that point in the day. I'll tell him the rest when we see him. He owns a restaurant in Victoria. We used to live next door from each other and... we were good friends."

"So how long were you together?" he asks me with a knowing smile and, in response to my perplexed explanation, adds, "You used the word 'friends' one too many times."

"Oh. Um, we weren't. He really _was_ just a good friend, but I was the only one who was happy with our relationship the way it was."

"Ah."

"I haven't seen him in long enough for him to have gotten over me but just in case..."

"I will make it abundantly clear that you're mine," he promises.

"I'm _with_ you, I'm not _yours_," I correct him, amused.

"You call me yours all the time," Eric points out with a mildly victorious expression on his face.

Shaking my head, I tell him, "I call you my dear, my beloved. I don't claim your entire existence as _mine_."

"Why not?" he challenges. "I don't mind. I like thinking that you value me enough to want me as yours, and I value you enough to want you to be mine. What is so wrong with that?"

"But I'm a _person_, Eric. I'm my own separate entity, I have thoughts, I have ambitions."

"You're dependant enough to admit you love me, to marry me."

"Alright then, maybe I should just break up with you to reaffirm my independence."

"Maybe you should. It'll make Sam happy."

"You're not going to toss me over your shoulder and carry me back to your cave?"

"Nope. The homing device I embedded in your ring will do that for me." Staring at him for a moment, I can't suppress the fit of laughter and it isn't long before he joins me, doubling over in the seats, the sounds of our laughter reverberating in the small car. Soon we're kissing and not long after that we're roused by the insistent knocking of a displeased middle-aged woman gesturing at the young children gaping at us in awe. Blushing, I break away while Eric rolls down the window and charmingly apologizes to the woman whose scowl may be caused by his less-than-subtle erection and ushers her children away.

"Oops," he observes with a mischievous grin and I roll my eyes as the lane begins moving into the ferry. We choose to stay in the car when Eric convinces me with a well-aimed brush of his hand of the possibilities should we choose to stay. By some stroke of luck, we're parked in the farthest lane from the stairs that lead up to the upper decks, and so we remain undisturbed as we make out and then make love in the cramped backseat like teenagers in love. Afterwards, still damp with sweat though clothed and entirely satisfied, I sit in Eric's lap with my eyes closed, grasping at the remnants of my last orgasm.

"I love you." He nuzzles my ear and I kiss his neck.

"How 'bout a compromise?" I suggest dreamily. "My _heart_ is all yours. My love is all yours, my body is yours when and if I'm willing to share. My mind is all mine. The choices I make are mine, though your existence in my life will affect those choices." He regards me wordlessly for a long time before speaking.

"Fine. You can hold back, min älskade, but _I_ am _all yours_." There's humour in his eyes and the undying optimism that is so Eric, and I can feel myself softening.

"What if you hurt me?" The question slips out quietly into the sex-laden air and his eyes widen in shock. "What if- I've given you so much." I continue haltingly, "I've trusted you with my heart and I've let you into my life. I accepted your proposal because I love you and I trust you to be faithful to me but... what if I'm wrong?"

"You're not."

"I thought I was right the first time and look how that turned out. And I'm trying, I'm really trying because _you_ deserve a chance. And you love me right now, but what if that stops? What if I give you everything I've got and you don't want it? What will I be left with then? I'll have nothing, Eric. I started over with nothing once already, I _can't_ do it again. I just _can't_." His large hands cup my face and he forces me to meet his gaze.

"You won't _have_ to."

"But how do you-"

"Because I already lost my wife once, you think there's _anything_ I'm going to do to jeopardize what I have with you? You think I didn't think this through? I blame myself for what happened to Sara and I run like hell from any thing that might possibly make me lose you too. You think I would toe the line just for kicks?" His outburst shocks me and I find myself leaning away from him, against the back of the driver's seat, and he rubs roughly at his eyes and pushes his hair out of his face in an attempt at pulling himself together. Suddenly, his hands on my hips push me aside and deposit me, not roughly, onto the seat before he makes to get out.

"Eric, where-"

"I need fresh air. Give me a minute. Just- stay here." Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair and opens the car door, slamming it hard. From inside, I watch him wind his way through the parked cars and up the stairs and out of my view. My chest is heaving and my breaths are coming in short gasps as I fumble with the door handle and lean out of the car to swallow a lungful of air not saturated with sex and Eric and the scent of our lovemaking and subsequent fight. This is the first time he's walked away, the first time he's fulfilled a role I always occupy with my inherent tendency to run away instead of stay and fight. And I'm terrified. I can't imagine what it took for him to watch me walk away every time there was a conflict, and the fact that he's changing his method in dealing with me – from waiting for me to come back to him to being the one who does the running – is terrifying. The homing device may have been more than a joke because twenty minutes later, borderline insane, I find Eric on the uppermost deck, wind whipping through his hair. I've brought him his hoodie just in case, having guessed it to be freezing with the wind out here assuming this is where I find him. I'm right because he's hunched over the railing, goosebumps on his tanned arms left uncovered by his t-shirt. Holding it out to him, I sigh when he declines and tell him to get over himself and just put on the damn hoodie and he scowls but does as he's told. I lean into him, resting my chin on his shoulder and he steps away, turning to lean backwards on the railing.

"Eric..." I sigh quietly and he shoots me a look so devoid of warmth that I burst out crying, perhaps alarming the few other people wandering around on the deck. Hesitating only a moment, he gathers me into his arms wordlessly and I sob into the Eclipse logo on his chest. "I'm sorry."

"In the past ten months, have I given you any reason to doubt me? Doubt how I feel about you?" He murmurs into my ear, softly, and I shake my head into his embrace. "You know me. I don't do anything lightly. I wouldn't have bothered to be what I am for you unless I took this seriously. I understand where you're coming from. You were hurt, you learned your lesson, you're protecting yourself. Hesitance I get; testing the waters before jumping in headfirst. What I don't get is testing the waters, jumping in, and spending the rest of your life trying to claw your way out because you fear you're going to die of hypothermia any second. I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. _He_ was the _exception_, the one who told you he wanted one thing but took another, not the rule. _He_ was the anomaly. _I _am not, Sookie. Do us both a favour and accept that no matter how many times you tiptoe into my apartment without calling out you're home, you're not going to find someone else in my bed. You're not going to find me wanting anyone other than _you_ in my bed. I give you no reason to doubt me, so do _yourself_ a favour and don't pretend there are reasons to be distrustful when there are none." My arms are tight around his waist and his are just as enthusiastic about holding me, and the warmth of his sweater is only outmatched by the comfort his heartbeat provides so I stay in his arms, the wind whipping around us as the ferry rushes through the water. The truth is that I'm still shaken from the possibility of Eric leaving and his embrace is far too reassuring for me to step out of it, even if it is to address his speech. My sobs having died out nearly as soon as he took me into his arms, I sniffle lightly and check to make sure I haven't ruined his clothes and find I haven't.

"Please don't ever walk away from me," I say just loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the engines. I pause and then add, "That's my job and I didn't appreciate it."

"Not fun being walked away from, is it?" he chuckles and I shake my head. "I just needed some air. I was going to come back anyways 'cause I was freezing."

"It scared me," I confess into his chest and Eric buries his face in my hair in response.

"What did you think I was going to do? Jump overboard and swim ashore?"

"Nothing good," I respond and clutch more tightly at his sweater. At that moment, a female voice over the PA system suggests we return to our vehicles in anticipation of our arrival in Swartz Bay and I release Eric, stopping when he tugs me back to plant a soft kiss on my lips before taking my hand and leading me downstairs. Not too long after, we're speeding south on the BC-17 towards Victoria, me having opted to let Eric take the wheel for the sake of some sightseeing. He holds my hand in his lap, resting it on his thigh when he momentarily lets go to flick on the air conditioning. A mere half an hour later, we're pulling into the underground parking of the hotel I've booked for us on Oswego Street, a short walk from downtown Victoria. Our room is a one-bedroom suite on the fourth floor, a free upgrade because the room I had booked isn't ready when we reach the hotel. Eric lifts me up and tosses me on the bed the minute the door is closed and then throws himself on top of me, proceeding to make love to me in the way I have come to identify as emotionally drained. Afterwards I kiss his face fervently in my wordless apology and he smiles and tilts his head up to meet my lips as we lay on our sides. Rolling onto his back, he stares up at the ceiling fan.

"Welcome to Victoria," I grin cheekily and he laughs. "Hungry?"

Cocking a brow, he says, "I already ate," and I feel my cheeks flush.

"How about actual food? We can go to Sam's restaurant and you can meet him?" Resting my head over his shoulder, I throw an arm across his chest and kiss his ear when he nods. Then, pausing for a moment, he turns his head towards me.

"Do you even _want_ to get married?"

"Of course. I love you."

"That's not the same thing, Sook. Loving someone and wanting to marry them aren't mutually inclusive."

"They are for me," I insist, frowning. "You're right. I have no reason to fear you will hurt me. I know you love me and you've done nothing to make me feel that way. It's terrifying but I- I decided it doesn't matter. I'm willing to spend the rest of my life with you and if for whatever reason that doesn't happen, it's okay. When I was waiting for you on the ferry, I decided it's okay if I only get a little while with you because- Because I'd forgotten what it felt like to love someone so absolutely. And I'd never really known what it feels like to _be _absolutely loved and you've shown me that. Everyone should get that and I have it so I can't ask for more. I mean, if there is more, if I get to die having spent the remainder of my life with you, then _great_. But if not, I'm content with whatever the universe decides to give me. And considering the last chance I took on you worked out well, I'm willing to take another one. So yes, I want to marry you. I love you, I want you. You make me mindlessly happy and you can cook like a chef and you're fantastic in bed and you're kind and funny and my best friend. I'd have to be crazy to not want to marry you."

"I still don't like that you're so seriously considering the possibility of our marriage not ending well," he tells me after a long moment.

"How are you so optimistic?" I ask him after another long moment during which it is my turn to consider his words.

"Because I have no reason not to be. My life sucked and you walked into my apartment. It seems to me like that is a pretty good reason to be optimistic."

"Yeah, but considering what a pain in the ass I can be, I'm starting to wonder why you even bother," I mutter into his shoulder.

"It's worth it," he murmurs. "When you save your energy to _be_ with me instead of run from me, it's worth it." Eric meets my eyes and we share a shy smile before I stand up and lead him to the shower. An hour later, having most likely drained the entire building's hot water, we step out into the street and begin walking toward Merlotte's Bar and Grill on Belleville St for a late lunch. The place is pretty busy for a Thursday afternoon, no doubt a result of its prime location and Sam's ability to draw in his costumers with his impressive business savvy. Eric and I share one side of the booth and Sam joins us once I ask the waitress to let him know Sookie Stackhouse is here to see him. I pull him into a tight hug and smile when I see him, for the first time in months, and take a moment to just take in his shaggy light brown hair and baby blue eyes. We were best friends, he and I, for most of our lives. When I moved to Vancouver to attend UBC, however, he stayed in Victoria and took over his deceased dad's business, breathing new life into the place. The two of us kept in touch for years and he was there for me when Gran died and when Bill cheated on me the first time, standing by me even when I chose to marry the man who had not only destroyed Sam's chances with me but had also broken my heart. Eventually, our hectic lives became too much to manage more than the occasional email and, even though he visited me in Vancouver after Bill and I separated, I barely saw him any more than I saw my brother, which was once every several months, if even that. I fight back the guilt of having lost contact with the man who was there for me when he didn't have to be, barely expecting anything other than my friendship, and promise myself that I will be a better friend to him from now on, living in different cities be damned.

"You look great, Sookie," Sam smiles at me and I mess up his hair in the way I always used to as kids, returning the sentiment, and then feel my heart drop with the possibility of having made Eric jealous. I'm thankfully mistaken however, because Eric is half-kneeling on the seat cushion in a compromise between sliding out of the booth and rudely remaining seated, and is regarding us with a bemused expression.

"Sam, meet my fiancé Eric." Sam's eyebrows jump up and I add, "He wasn't when I talked to you yesterday. He is now."

"It's nice to meet you." Eric extends a hand that Sam grasps and I become the witness of what appears to be a staring contest to determine who is manlier as they shake hands. Eventually we take our seats and the waitress sidles up to us to take our order, making sure to be extra gracious in the presence of her boss who insists lunch is on him. I can tell Eric is less than pleased but lets it slide as Sam and I begin catching up, talking about how our lives have been lately (he's seeing someone, a chef over at The Empress hotel named Lauren, and business is great, the best it's been in a long time).

"So, how long are you going to be in town?" Sam asks when our plates are more or less empty. He knows why I'm here now, is fully aware of the significance the month of July holds for me, and I tell him we're only here for a day to "catch up with some old friends and run some errands". He can guess what errands I'm referring to and nods placidly.

"Which reminds me, we should probably get going and let you go back to work," I say, glancing at Eric who has been very quiet all lunch, wordlessly watching us two talk and reminisce but managing to not make it appear as though he's disinterested or unhappy. He nods in response to my statement and I take the hand he had been resting on the table into my own. Sam, now standing up, catches the movement.

"You two lovebirds pick a day yet?" he asks me and Eric and I share a look as we too begin standing up and stepping out of the booth.

"Not really," I begin slowly.

"Soon," Eric provides and, in response to my smile, squeezes my hand. I'm thrilled that he's back to his old confident self; a part of me had worried that _he_ would change his mind about getting married. Sam nods and steps forward to hug me goodbye and kiss my cheek chastely.

"Don't leave without saying good-bye, okay?" he smiles and I suggest that we go for coffee the next morning before Eric and I head out. I clasp Eric's hand as we walk back to the hotel to pick up the car and head to Ross Bay Cemetery, and he brings mine to his mouth to press a kiss into it, thumb brushing over the two pear-shaped rubies that flank the princess-cut diamond on my engagement ring.

"Are you okay?" he asks as we walk along the harbour towards our hotel and I look up at him inquisitively. It never fails to surprise me how much taller he is.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry if we bored you in there."

"You didn't," he assures me with a smile. "It was interesting to watch you with your friend. You guys seemed very comfortable with each other."

"Jealous?" I ask with a playful smile and he scoffs.

"I have bigger feet."

"That you do, min älskade. That you do." The pleased look on his face is adorable and I stop walking to pull him back and kiss him in the heavy, tourist-laden mid-afternoon foot traffic. He gives me a surprised but happy look and I cup his face in my hand to kiss him again before we continue walking.

8888

I hate cemeteries. _Hate_ them.

To be fair, I don't think anybody _likes_ cemeteries, but the fact that my parents and the only person I can _remember_ parenting me are all buried somewhere in here is like a coil tightening in the pit of my stomach. My respect for Eric grows when he silently accompanies me to the double-grave that is my parents' resting place, never flinching despite the pressure I'm exerting on his hand clasped in mine. Reaching the gravestone, he presses a kiss into my temple and I release his hand so he can step back and leave me to gently place the flowers I brought with me amidst the few others resting on their grave. Standing with my hands clutched in front of me, I begin speaking to my long-deceased parents. I tell them that I'm sorry for not visiting enough, but that I think about them all the time. I tell them about my business, about my friends, about finding love again and getting engaged. I tell them that for the first time in a long time I'm desperately happy and I just wish they could have been here with me. Even though I was too young to really remember them, I had always been acutely aware of their absence in my life. I tell Daddy I wish he could be the one to give me away at my wedding, and I tell my mother that I wish she could give me a speech about finding the love of my life because in my head, I no longer even count the first marriage I had. It wasn't right, but this is. I tell them, or whatever soul they may have left behind on earth for me to connect with, about Eric and how happy he makes me, how he woke me up. Like I was underwater and didn't know I needed to breathe but he dragged me up and I've been taking in lungfuls of fresh air ever since. Eventually I run out of things to say and I just sit down on the grass, hugging my knees to my chest. There's the sound of movement behind me and Eric sits down next to me, not touching, not watching, simply being. At some point, I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder, and he puts an arm around me and kisses my hair, the two of us continuing to sit wordlessly. Later, we walk over to the gravestone bearing the name Adele Marie Hale Stackhouse and I leave more flowers, promising her that I will be back later, apologizing for not coming more often and all but collapsing against Eric with emotional exhaustion. My fiancé carries me back to the car and seats me in the passenger seat, settling himself on the curb with the car door open as he watches me, stroking my calves. Perhaps satisfied with whatever he finally catches in my eyes, he buckles me in and shuts the door before taking the wheel and driving us back to the hotel where he undresses me and slides under the comforter to let me curl into his body.

When I awaken, Eric is laying on his back while my head rests on his shoulder.

"Good evening, min älskade," he greets quietly.

"I'm sorry for being a train-wreck," I blurt.

Laughing, he says, "There are times when you are allowed to be a train-wreck. The anniversary of your parents' death is one of those times." He turns towards me and his bedhead and blue eyes are so inviting, and I'm feeling frisky once again, so I kiss him before moving atop his body to straddle his waist. Eric makes a sound somewhere between happy and soothed and I duck down to kiss his neck, mouthing at his skin the way I know he likes and then peppering kisses on his face before taking his mouth again. Large palms slowly stroking my thighs, he lets me set the pace, to do whatever I please to him and there's plenty I please, teasing and licking and stroking to elicit sounds and full-body jerks like he's my own personal plaything to toy with. We barely make any noise, just gasps and moans and whispered endearments spiralling downwards into breathless curses as we reach our respective completions, multiple times. I kiss the flat plane just below Eric's belly button much later and roll off of him to sprawl on my back with my head in the vicinity of his stomach, sticky with sweat and God knows what else.

"Uh uh," Eric taps my shoulder. "Get up here." Chuckling, I drag myself up the length of the bed and rest my head on the juncture of his shoulder. Reaching down, he drapes my legs across his hips and my arm across his chest, presses a kiss into my damp forehead and closes his eyes.

"That was the third time today," I observe, shocked with my own ability to not only keep up with Eric, but to instigate _more_.

"You're finally reaching your potential," Eric grins without opening his eyes.

"My potential as what? An insatiable teenager?"

"Well, you did do that crazy saving yourself thing in high school, so maybe now you're just getting it out of your system."

"Crazy saving myself thing?" I quote him incredulously and he opens one eye to shoot me a playful look. "When did _you_ lose your virginity?"

"Fifteen."

"Gross."

"Seventeen."

"Alarming if you were my child but realistically speaking, much better than fifteen."

"You were only two years older!" Eric defends.

"I was in university and in a long-term relationship, and he was my only partner until I was twenty-six."

"Well, that was your loss. And the loss of every guy who wanted in your pants."

"Hmm, I'm sure," I laugh and turn my head into his shoulder, my hand stroking over his ribs.

"Sookie, you don't think me yelling your name is an act, do you? There's a reason behind it. A very obvious one."

"I just thought it was because I'm breathtakingly hot," I muse with a grin.

"That," he allows, "and the fact that you're amazing." Huh. Wow. I mean, I have always enjoyed sex with Eric. It's a given, really; he's handsome and well-built and fantastic in bed, and on top of it all I love him, so having sex with him has failed to become any less exciting in the months since we started dating. He, too, always appears to enjoy it, if the sounds he makes and how breathless and sated he is afterwards are any indication, but I had somehow never chalked it up to the fact that it's because of how _skilled_ I am. Looking at my perplexed expression and apparently reading my mind, he says, "That thought never occurred to you?" Shaking my head, I earn myself a look of disbelief followed by laughter.

"Don't laugh!" Judging by the heat flooding my cheeks, I'm blushing furiously as I add, "How was I supposed to figure out you think I'm..." I drift off, feeling silly even saying it.

"Say it!" Eric orders playfully and I mumble the last part. "Sorry, couldn't hear you. I think you are...?"

"Amazing, how was I supposed to figure out you think I'm amazing," I blurt out and he tightens his arms around me, still laughing as he kisses my forehead.

"I thought I was giving some pretty obvious hints, min älskade. Evidently, I was mistaken." His lips press against mine, trapping my bottom lip and licking at it lightly. "But no harm done; now you know." A thought occurs to me and I pull back to meet his eyes.

"Well, you know I think you're great too, right? I mean, it shouldn't even be a question." The wide expanse of white teeth he's showing me is a clear indication that I have just stroked his already-considerable ego, and I would regret it if he didn't look so damned happy. I still roll my eyes and make to get out of bed, heading to the bathroom to moisten a towel and clean up before tossing him one as he follows me, quietly chuckling. Panties and one of his t-shirts are all I'm willing to put on right now, and he seems to agree with me on that front because he only tugs on a pair of light cotton pants. Soon, I'm sitting in his arms on the couch as he orders room service and we turn on the TV to watch _Supernatural_ at my insistence while Eric grumbles and threatens to change the channel to ESPN if I so much as comment on how good-looking Jensen Ackles is and how lucky I would be to run into him in Vancouver where the show is often shot as I ensure to do at least once every week, just to see the priceless look on Eric's face. We stay on the couch for the rest of the evening, eating the food room service brings and watching more mindless television amidst all our make-out sessions that I put an end to once his hands start drifting lower, claiming exhaustion and soreness. Eric carries me to the bed when I fall asleep and holds me tightly under the covers when I tell him I love him, I'm in love with him, insanely and absolutely in love with everything about him. Heart-wrenchingly sweet for this brief window of time, Eric's lips softly press into the side of my nose, my cheekbone, my chin and he tells me that he's just as crazy about me, that I'm his everything.

I sniffle, "Hey, Eric?"

"Yes?" I press my body against his, resting a hand on his cheek even as I tuck my head under his chin.

"Hold me tighter." Eric obeys, one hand stroking my hair while the other, having hitched my leg over his hip, brings my body as close as possible to his and secures it there. "If you let me go, I will kick your ass." I smile, comforted by the warm sound of his laughter, and close my eyes to drift off.


	14. Something Old and Something New

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: I recommend visiting the Butchart Gardens in Victoria. All the places described in this chapter are non-fictional, in case you were wondering.

Comments are, as always, more than welcome. Especially now, since life isn't being too kind. But still. Enjoy.

* * *

_I can't explain my bad behaviour,_

_And baby, you're my saviour,_

_And I don't wanna end up alone._

"Scream", Hedley

* * *

When I awaken the next morning, tangled in the sheets and Eric's impossibly long limbs, it's just past nine thirty. I have plans to meet Sam at eleven for coffee because I wasn't sure when we would be leaving and therefore unsure of how much I would be running around in the later part of the day, and Sam had been okay with meeting before lunch so eleven it was. I shower alone, a rarity, and shave my legs and do all the things I never quite have time to accomplish when Eric's with me. Stepping out, I put product in my hair and let it air dry into a wavy mess that I can loosely gather and call it 'fashionable' as I apply the lightest hints of makeup and put on a fitted dress with small pink flowers all over it and slip into my black flats. A quick glance at the clock tells me it is past ten thirty and if I want to walk to the cafe on Government St that I'm supposed to meet Sam at and not have to worry about the time, I should leave. Perching on the edge of the bed, I stroke Eric's hair where he is sprawled on his stomach and he awakens with a drowsy groan when I kiss his shoulder, his hair, the side of his nose.

"You don't have to get up, but I'm going to meet Sam, okay? I won't be too long, and I'll leave the car with you. I think there's breakfast downstairs." Eric rolls onto his back and regards me after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, nodding at my words. When I lean down to kiss him, my hand resting on his abdomen, he turns his head and I pull back, one eyebrow raised. "Just because I'm going to meet another man doesn't mean I don't get a kiss," I tease and he smiles his sweet, not-quite-awake smile.

"Morning breath," he explains.

"I don't care." I lean down again and this time he lets me kiss him, even lets me deepen the kiss a little bit before I pull back for fear of starting something I don't have time to finish. "Love you, älskling," I press another kiss into his forehead and then I'm gone, hurrying out into the cool, gorgeous Victoria morning. It's good to be home, I'll have to admit. It's a like a part of me can distinguish between being on either side of the Strait of Georgia and it soothes me when I'm on this side of it. This time of day, the temperature's on the cool side before it warms up as it tends to in mid-July. My iPod on shuffle, I head past the harbour and the Legislature building before turning left and taking my time to admire the gorgeous green of the ivy covering the Fairmont Empress hotel as I head north on Government St. Wavering, I relent and purchase a truffle from Rogers' Chocolates a block away from Mirage, the coffee place on the corner of Courtney St I'm supposed to meet Sam at. The man himself is leaning against the short expanse of wall separating Mirage from the store next door and I greet him with a hug.

"Somebody's happy," he comments with a grin.

"Also starved. Come on." Inside, I order a café mocha and the biggest slice of cheesecake in-store while Sam chuckles and gets a black coffee, albeit with a cinnamon bun and a playful smirk at me. We snag a table on the Government front of the shop and settle ourselves in the monumentally uncomfortable chairs.

"So you went to Ross Bay yesterday?" Sam asks carefully, sipping at his coffee.

"Yeah."

"Eric went with you?"

I laugh, "Yes. He wasn't about to let me go alone."

"I ask you this as a friend, okay, but are you sure about him?" I have to smile at how delicate he is being with me, but his concern is touching and I recall his compassion when he found out about my split from Bill. I never told him about the abortion, but his support meant more to me than he could have ever realized.

"Sammy, there's something I never told you." I begin, taking the hand he had been resting on the table next to the plate holding his cinnamon bun. "I was pregnant when Bill and I split up. When I found out about... about him, I got an abortion. The way I was after, psychologically, wasn't all because I caught my husband cheating, it was because I'd wanted to have a child for years and when I got pregnant, my husband turned out to be a two-timing jerk and I had an abortion before I let myself take a second to think rationally." Pausing, I take in the shock on his expression and continue, "Sammy, I didn't tell you because the only two people that knew were Amelia and Claudine. Even Bill didn't know until recently because it hurt too much to talk about it, to let myself remember it. I'm telling you now because you're my good friend and... also to prove to you that I'm sure about Eric. He knows, about everything. He deals with my insecurities and suspicions and he still loves me. He's the voice in the back of my head that's slowly dragging me back from the edge, the edge the Bill shoved me to... and that metaphor may have gone too far."

"It did," Sam nods and I chuckle apologetically. "So, are you okay now?"

"I'm fine. My point was, he loves me. And yes, I'm sure about him." My old friend regards me for a long time and then nods.

"For what it's worth, it's obvious he loves you and that he makes you happy."

"Thank you," I smile into my lap. "So, how long have you and Lauren...?"

"A couple of months," he shrugs but can't hide the sparkle in his eyes.

"Oooh, Sammy's in _love_."

"Very mature," Sam laughs and I'm momentarily shocked by how much smiling becomes him. We continue eating breakfast, talking and reminiscing about what appears to be an endless well of memories, though inevitably the conversation steers to my brother.

"Sookie, you need to see him," my friend sighs.

"No, I don't," is my calm, polite response.

"He's your _brother_."

"A very bad one. Sam, the only thing he has ever given me is the rent he pays me for living in the house. When I got a divorce, he thought I was being a coward and a bad wife."

"That's because you never told him about-"

"What kind of brother takes the cheating husband's side in a divorce?" I snap and gain myself the attention of several passersby before reining myself in. "When I was in the hospital last year, he basically showed up just to make sure I was alive before going bar-hopping with the friend he'd brought with him. And then I didn't hear from him until called me to see if I was going to be in town for his birthday."

"Fine, so he's a bad brother," Sam allows, "but you're not a bad sister. He doesn't deserve you, but it doesn't stop you from being good to him." I cock my head in puzzlement and he adds, "I saw the iPod you sent him for Christmas. He showed it off to everybody. Even came into the restaurant to show me." Sighing, I press the fork into the soft cake and watch the imprint of the tines.

"I'll think about it," I feign surrender and, when I see his entirely unconvinced expression, laugh and hold up my hands. "Alright, alright." And we move on. Later, as we head back in the direction of the harbour, I asked him if he shouldn't have been at the restaurant working and he shakes his head.

"I figured out a long time ago that I needed a manager if I wanted to have _any_ semblance of a life. I asked her to cover the lunch shift today." We take the stairs down to the edge of the water and watch a couple busking, playing an acoustic version of Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat. At Belleville, we ascend another set of stairs and stop, each needing to move in opposite directions down Belleville, he to his job and I to my hotel.

"So what are the chances of me seeing you before you get married?" Sam grins.

"Well, y'know, I'm extremely busy these days..." He laughs and I drift off, grinning. "Why don't you come visit us? I know you're not big on big cities, but it's gotta be worth it, seeing me, right? You could bring Lauren, I'd love to meet her."

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great. We'll keep in touch. For real, this time." Smiling, I pull him into another hug and hold him for a moment.

"It was wonderful seeing you, Sammy."

"You too Sook. You know, we really miss you around here." His hands hold mine and I can't help being pleased with his statement, knowing full well that there is no 'we' because the only friends I had had on this island have moved away, on to their respective lives. We say good-bye with another, quicker hug, and go our separate ways. As I walk, I fish my phone out of my purse and dial Amelia.

"Hullo?" she greets, the lack of recognition in her voice letting me know that she didn't bother checking the caller ID. We exchange pleasantries and I tell her how Victoria is until I can no longer put off my reason for calling her.

"Okay, Mel, don't freak out, okay?" There's a pause and Amelia says okay so I continue. "Eric proposed." Her immediate shriek forces me to hold the phone away from my ear. "I _said_ don't freak out!"

"Did you say 'yes'? _Did you say 'yes'_?"

"Yes! I said 'yes' to him," I confirm, unable to hold back the laughter as I await the walk sign and begin crossing the street.

"_Sookie, you're getting married?_"

"Yes, yes I am."

"And I won the bet," she observes merrily.

"Yes, so you owe me money. Fifty percent, Miss Broadway, like we agreed."

"Alright, alright," she grumbles. "Wait, you didn't say 'yes' just to win the bet, did you?"

"_No!_ Of course not. I... I love him, Mel. So much," I waver and come to a stop on the sidewalk of the quiet street, slumping against a tree. "He's... he's everything. I want him, for myself, for ever. Is that too cheesy?"

My friend sniffles a little and says, "No. Not at all. I'm so happy for you, Sookie. You so deserve this." I laugh, shocking myself when I discover the tears about to fall. Hastily wiping at them, I begin walking once more and our conversation turns to happier topics. I have to let her go when I reach to hotel entrance and then I'm quickening my footsteps towards the bank of elevators. Eric peeks out of the bedroom when I close the door behind me, hair damp, and he grins when I dump my bag at the door, kick off my shoes and hurry towards him to jump in his arms. My lips find his and I can feel myself melting into him, needing him as close as I can get him.

"Hi baby," I grin and my skirt gets pushed up to allow my legs to wrap around his waist.

"Hi," he walks backwards to sit on the bed. "How are you this afternoon?"

"Good, but that's not to say I can't feel better," I smile flirtatiously.

"Nope, you're not distracting me with sex."

"Are you sure?"

"In this particular instance, yes. You need to go see your brother, Sookie."

"No, I don't. And why do you even care? You were the one who was all, 'Just because you're biologically related, it doesn't make you family'."

"That's what _I _believe, yes. Which is why if my hypothetical brother was a dick, I would never visit him. But _you_ don't believe me, and you won't rest easy until you've smoothed things over with him. So _go visit him_."

"You're just saying this because you're annoyed you haven't met him yet," I mutter, frustrated.

"Yes! Yes, I _am_, as a matter of fact, frustrated that I have yet to meet my fiancée's only remaining relative, fancy you should ask."

"Eric, he's _my_ brother, it should be _my_ choice-"

"And when will it become _our_ choice, Sookie? At what point in our relationship will you introduce me to your family? Because evidently, being engaged isn't enough of a reason. Will he be invited to our wedding? Will you ever make him aware of the fact that you're with me, that you're willing to spend the rest of your life with me? Or is that your choice, too? Should I even bother discussing things with you anymore or should I take the same stance you're taking on this issue, that it's my choice and therefore none of your business."

"Eric," I begin, my voice shaking from the anger, "you want to know why I won't just introduce you to my brother? Because you will hate each other. I can't verbalize it, I can't rationalize it, but knowing both of you, I _know_ you will hate him. You already don't like him for not taking care of me and you'll meet him and- ... You're the most important person in my life. I love you enough that I'm disregarding the paralyzing fear I feel because I want to spend the rest of my life with you and, good or bad, he's the only remnant of my family. I love him because of that one time when he was seven and he crawled into my bed and held me because he could hear me crying from across the hall. I love him because when my first boyfriend dumped me, he stayed in on a Friday night, cancelled on his football buddies, and watched TV with me. Even if he's a careless jerk now, when I had _nobody_, he was there for me." Sighing, I move off of his lap and turn to leave the room but pause at the doorway. "Call me crazy. I guess I just didn't want to ignite what is sure to be a passionate _hate_ affair between my brother and my fiancé." Outside of the bedroom, I head to the door and pick up my purse but freeze, Eric's words from the previous day flashing in my mind. It really is no fun being walked away from. Sighing, I let my purse return to the floor and turn to find Eric leaning against the kitchenette counter. I walk back and stand in front of him, meeting his eyes wearily. He thanks me quietly and I incline my head.

"I won't hate him."

"Right."

"You're being irrational."

"I'm fully aware."

"He's your brother. You've met my entire family."

"He has hurt me. I'm angry at him. Doesn't mean I appreciate having you hate him." Hands framing me face, Eric brings me closer to him.

"Alright, so you're protective of him. I get that. I just want to be able to say that I know your family as well as being a part of it. I'm not going to try and exact vengeance, Sookie. I can control my urges to bitchslap the people that are rude to you."

"Do you promise?" I ask meekly.

"You're so damn stubborn, Sookie. Yes, I promise I won't be a dick to your brother. Now will you call him and let him know you're in town?" Nodding, I move to put my arms around his waist, reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss his neck and then slip my arms under the hem of his t-shirt to feel the warm skin of his back. My fiancé hums and bends down to capture my mouth with his, though gently and without deepening the kiss. "Call Jason, Sookie." Groaning, I shoot him an accusatory look. "You're not going to distract me with sex, remember." Pouting, I mutter that he better not count on _being distracted_ anytime soon and turn to retrieve my cellphone.

8888

My Gran's old house is about twenty minutes from our hotel in the direction of Saanichton. I enter the address into my GPS and let Eric drive while I look out the window, too anxious to focus on anything. Eric seems to sense this and doesn't speak, just hums along lightly to whatever song is playing on the radio station that I let him pick. Soon, he turns off from the highway and into Hummingbird Rd, a country road off of a deserted street. Deciduous trees whose leaves rustle softly in the cool mid-afternoon breeze line the dirt road and Eric pulls into the gravelled driveway leading up to the old farmhouse-style home of my childhood. Jason's old black F-150 is parked in the front and Eric parks beside it before he gets out to walk over to my side of the car where I'm dragging my feet.

"You okay?" My fiancé strokes up and down my arms, ducking down to meet my gaze.

"Yeah," I assure him. "Just nervous."

"Does Jason know we're engaged?" he asks softly and I shake my head. "Would you rather not tell him now?"

"What, no!" I laugh incredulously. "I'm not going to pretend you mean less to me than you actually do because it'll piss him off that he wasn't made aware of our relationship." The grin spreading across his face tells me that he was bluffing and I shake my head. "I see right through you, Mr Northman."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responds with an innocent smile and I reach up to kiss him. Taking his hand, I lead him up the porch steps where I open the old screen door, its well-oiled hinges testifying as to Jason's DIY attitude. Footfalls rapidly approach from within the house when I knock on the door and exchange a nervous look with Eric who squeezes my hand reassuringly. The door swings open to reveal Jason. My older brother has blue eyes and blonde hair that match mine and I briefly observe that we are three identically-blonde blue-eyed people standing on this porch. Jason is strangely handsome, with blonde hair that he painstakingly styles to appear unstyled and a narrow face that puts his prominent cheekbones and thick, curly lashes on display. South of the border, people would call it his all-American good looks. He takes a moment to study me before his eyes flick over to look at the six feet of Swede standing next to me, brows drawing together in puzzlement at the stranger.

"Hey Jason."

"Hey Sook," he nods at me and his eyes return to Eric.

"Jason, this is my Eric. Eric, meet my brother." I run nervously through the introductions, cleverly avoiding the terms 'marry', 'fiancé' or 'engaged'.

"It's nice to meet you." Eric extends a hand that Jason takes after a moment of hesitation before inviting us in. My brother gestures towards the old couch in the living room and offers us seats and drinks, both with the uneasy manner of someone who is unaccustomed to playing the host. We accept both and Jason disappears to fetch us the beers and the two of us settle on the couch.

"The kitchen is at the back of the house," I murmur to Eric when I notice him curiously taking in his surroundings. "There's another porch back there, and the guest bedroom is down that hall, to the right. There's a master suite up there," I gesture at the staircase to the right of the front door, opposite from the living room.

"Where was your bedroom?" Eric asks.

"It's upstairs, next to the master bedroom," I smile. "I might show you later. Jason's was the guest bedroom. It made sneaking out easier for him since it's on the ground floor."

"Your Gran was okay with that?"

Shrugging, I say, "She knew he'd find a way regardless of _where_ his room was. She trusted him to show up the next morning." At that moment, the 'him' in question returns with three bottle of Pilsner that he sets down on the old coffee table. All the furniture in the house is old, from my grandparents' life together. The only modern items are the flat-screen LCD mounted on the wall across from the couch and the speakers embedded in the walls as part of the home theatre system.

"You didn't tell me you were planning on being in town," Jason says carefully and takes the armchair across from us.

"It was kind of a last-minute thing," I explain inadequately, choosing vagueness over admitting that his words had instigated the trip. "I went to Ross Bay."

In a moment of rare humility, my brother inclines his head and murmurs, "Thanks." There is a long moment of silence which Eric breaks by claiming he needs to make a call and excuses himself after kissing my hair. Once he steps out and closes the front door behind him, Jason and I turn back to each other.

"Jason, I'm not a bad person."

"I know."

"I didn't deserve being treated the way you treated me."

"I know."

"Then why did you-"

"I don't know. But I'm sorry, Sook. I'm not sorry for getting you to come visit, but I'm sorry if I upset you." My mouth opens and closes several times before I give up. "I know I'm not the best big brother, Sookie. I know that, okay? And I know in a lot of ways I fucked up, especially with the way I reacted after your divorce. I guess I just... You never needed me. You were always the one people counted on and I was the messed-up one and I didn't know how to deal with that."

"Jason, you're not messed up-"

"I _know_ I am, Sook. I was good at football but that doesn't amount to much in the real world does it?" I shoot him an apologetic look. "It's okay. I mean, I guess I'm pretty happy with my life the way it is, working for the city and living in this house. But it feels like you're so far out of our league that you can't even be bothered to come back to visit our parents' grave."

"Jason, that's not- ... Look, I'm sorry if I make you feel like you're 'out of my league'. It's not how it is at all. Being here just reminds me of everything I've lost here, and I don't like it. So, I'm sorry too." I stand up and, when my brother mimics me, I pull him into my arms. Awkward after what must be the first time Jason has shared his feelings with a fellow human, my brother pulls gently away and returns to his seat to tap his knee and take a swig of his beer.

"So, uh, you two been together long?"

"I guess. Ten months is relatively long, right?" I chuckle hesitantly and return to the couch. Jason's eyes flit down to my left hand and his brows rise.

"I didn't know you were engaged."

"Yeah, it's recent. As of Wednesday." I watch my brother carefully but find him more surprised than angry.

"Well, I'm happy for you. I mean, are you happy? I don't know him, is he a good guy? Is he good to you?" I bite back the retort that it might be a little too late for him to have developed concern for me, forcing myself to let him try and smooth things.

"I am. He's good to me; he loves me."

"Do you love him?"

"I'm crazy about him," I smile shyly, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"Then I'm happy for you, sis. You deserve someone who makes you happy after-"

"Yeah," I interrupt, not needing him to verbalize his pity. There's the sound of the door opening and Eric steps in cautiously, as if awaiting a scene of familial warfare, and I wave him in to have him join me.

"Sookie just told me about you guys. Congrats," my brother offers and I'm willing to forgive him his insincerity because Eric shoots me a delighted look and weaves his fingers with mine.

"Thank you."

Standing up, Jason says, "Look, I have to get back to work, I told them I was taking a long lunch but... Why don't you show Eric around. I'll see you later, right?" I nod, thanking him, and soon it's just Eric and I.

"Come on." I lead him upstairs and to the first room on the right, across the hall from the master suite that now belongs to Jason. "I don't think he changed it. Gran kept it the same so that I'd have somewhere to stay when I came to visit..." I drift off and grin widely at the unmistakably unchanged room.

"So much pink," Eric comments and I elbow hm.

"I used to be very girly," I explain and look around at the various photos, the hand-crocheted quilt on the bed, the old hardcovers on the shelves.

"Have you ever...?" His brows rise suggestively.

"Ever... what?"

"You know."

I can't help bursting out laughing, "No! You know I didn't until university."

"Never brought Bill back here?"

"He wasn't comfortable with the idea of doing it next door to my Gran," I roll my eyes and his face lights up even more.

"So, do you want to?"

"What, now?" I have to tamp down the sudden heat between my legs.

"Mmhmm." His lips turn up in a leer and he bends down to kiss my neck, to suck on the skin and inhale against it to raise goosebumps that make me shiver.

"Eric?"

"Hmm?"

"I have a better idea," I steal a kiss and unbutton his pants before dropping to my knees in front of him. Letting loose a string of vulgarities, he expresses just how pleasantly surprised he is when I take him into my mouth and soon his head is thrown back as he chants my name.

"Sookie, I'm close," he warns me. "_FuckmeI'msoclose_." When he climaxes, he cries out and his palms smacks against the wall. My Eric sinks to the floor in front of me to claim my mouth and to push me back onto the floor where we entwine in frenzied motions. A while later, sated and happy in the car, I tell Eric to turn right instead of left.

"Where are we going?"

"I figure we might as well get some sightseeing done as long as we're here." The happiness on his face is enough of an agreement, and I direct him in the direction of the Butchart Gardens. We purchase tickets and park in the parking lot before heading inside. Together, we follow the cobblestone path through the gorgeous landscaping of the Sunken Garden, the Ross Fountain and the few others in the way to my favourite of all the gardens: the Japanese Garden. Holding hands, we quietly take in the beautiful bridges and the lily pads floating on the placid surfaces of the ponds, looking up at the sunlight filtering in through the emerald-green leaves of the trees. I lead him to the single small Japanese gazebo marked with generations of graffiti and carved names. Eric settles on the bench and pulls me into his lap to bury his face in my hair.

"This is called an azumaya," I tell him quietly.

"The gazebo?"

"Yeah."

"You seem like you've come here a lot," he observes and I nod.

"I used to save up for the tickets all the time and come here. Just by myself. This place... it's huge. There's so many different flowers and so many different styles of landscaping. I've come here in every season and it still takes my breath away. When you round that first corner and you can see all of the Sunken Garden... all the tourists always crowd by the railing and take photos. They try to capture it, like it's just a painting. I used to play this game where I would try and memorize all the different colours, and the next time I came here I'd see how much had changed. I could never pick which time of the year I wanted as my backdrop for a photo." Snapping out of my memories, I look at Eric and find him watching me with a soft smile.

"Did you ever take a photo?"

"Nope. I don't want one. I'd rather just come here and see it for myself instead of in a photo."

"But you haven't been here in a while."

I shrug, "It's been years. The last person I was here with was..."

"Bill," he finishes for me. I stroke the side of his face so he meets my eyes.

"I confess I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here."

"Oh?" he appears genuinely taken aback and I lean in to press a kiss into his temple, letting my lips linger there.

"I wanted the memories of my new husband to override the memories of my old one. I want to have memories of you here instead of him." Tilting his head away from me, he regards me with calm eyes and, knowing full well that it is, I ask, "Is that okay?"

He nods, considering something, and then asks, "Can we visit Stockholm?" I smile, realizing that he is wanting to return the favour, and bend down to capture his lips in a brief kiss before hopping out of his lap.

"Come on, there's a few more memories I'd like to make," I say, dragging him away. Preferably in our hotel room shower.

* * *

A/N: On a side note, I have a few outtakes, chapter-esque things I've written that don't quite fit the tempo of the story but that I feel you, as readers, would enjoy or benefit from. I can't decide whether I want to start a new story and post them there or if I should post them at the end of this story as exactly what they are, which is little tidbits of story that just didn't fit. Thoughts?


	15. Something Borrowed and Something Blue

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N:

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

_Love of mine, _

_Some day you will die,_

_But I'll be close behind,_

_I'll follow you into the dark._

_..._

_If there's no one beside you, _

_When your soul embarks,_

_Then I'll follow you into the dark._

"I Will Follow You Into The Dark", Death Cab For Cutie

* * *

The day I become Mrs Sookie Stackhouse-Northman is March 21, 2012. Our friends and sparse family gather by the Ross Fountain in the Butchart Gardens of Victoria, the Fountain's descending, winding cobblestone path serving as my aisle as I walk towards my soon-to-be husband. I wear a mermaid-silhouette, sweetheart-neckline dress with subtle overlaid lace that hugs my curves and clutch a bouquet of red and white calla lilies to match the red silk sash around my waist as a tribute to Eric who loves me in anything red. My hair is curled and gathered loosely in the back, and my makeup consists of eyeliner, mascara and clear lipgloss. Amelia, my maid of honour, wears a deep crimson dress with a sweetheart neckline, the colour of it reflected in the crimson sash tied over the waist of Eric's best man's identical black dress, who just happens to be Pam. Eric's silk waistcoat is the lighter shade of red that matches _my_ sash. Amelia's fiancé Tray, Sam and his Lauren, and Claudine and her husband Colman sit on the left side of the aisle while Eric's parents and Pam's wife Thalia occupy the right side.

But these are just details.

My friends and I pored over catalogue after catalogue and brainstormed colours and fabrics and flowers under Eric's bemused watch, just so on this day I could wake up and decide none of it mattered as much as the man standing at the end of the aisle, the man with whom I will be spending the rest of my life. Because the fabric doesn't matter when he's looking at me like I'm his everything, and the flowers don't matter when he takes my hands in his and kisses them before we turn to face the marriage officiant. The tux Eric and I argued over because he wanted to wear a suit and I told him that just because we were having a small wedding didn't mean we had to dress _casually_ sure as hell doesn't matter, other than as the annoying barrier that will soon be keeping me from making love to my husband in the limo on the way to Merlotte's where the reception will be held. What matters, to me, is the conviction in his voice when he looks me in the eye and promises me everything, the wide smile he shoots me when I'm being asked if I swear to have and hold, love and cherish in sickness and in health 'til death do us part. What matters is the utter, pure happiness in his eyes when I say 'I do' after him and the coolness of the gold as it slides onto my finger, and the sudden realization that I'm his and he is mine, for ever.

It has taken us so long to get here.

When he asked me to marry him, he didn't expect a 'yes'. He was, as I had discovered, fully prepared to ask me again and again until I agreed, and even went as far as to personally tell me of his intention. The look on his face when Amelia handed me half the money Pam and Chuck had lost in their bet over how many times I would say no was absolutely priceless, but then he had laughed and shaken his head, muttering that there was _always_ a financial incentive for women to be with him and that clearly I was no different. That had earned him a smack and a threat to plan a wedding for far more than the eight guests we were planning on inviting, to which he had quipped that in that case I could pay for it myself, considering the outrageously undeserved sum I charged my clients. I told him that I didn't hear him complaining about my rate when he was checking out my boobs every time we met professionally and his retort had been that he had only been shocked that not even the "package I came in" could make the sizable amount I charged him worth it. Naturally, I warned him to be careful before this package kicked his Scandinavian butt out the door, and he had shot me his signature boyish grin and pressed a kiss into my lips, effectively ending that conversation.

I think back to how we met, to the mistakes we made. I think of his attitude in the way he treated women and my own stubbornness in thinking him unchangeable, constant and unwavering as my conviction in believing that to let someone get close to me would be tantamount to me getting hurt. To think that I could have missed out on this terrifies me. When I expressed that thought to Eric he smiled, telling me there was no way he would have let me, no way he would have let me get away with not testing it out, testing us out. I have to trust him, he said, and I did. I do. I trust him.

Thinking of all the trust issues I had been forced to work through still leaves me reeling, however. When I consider all the excuses I gave him to walk away, all the opportunities he didn't take to leave and prove my cynical self right about him, I want thank the God above for giving him the patience he required to tolerate me. I want to thank God, the Creator, Allah or whoever else has any influence up there in the metaphysical world for giving me this and let them know that I won't fuck it up, I promise, not even if you paid me.

The reception takes place in the private room of Merlotte's. Our nearest and dearest eat and drink and, after a while, push the tables aside to create a dance floor on which Eric and I share our first dance as husband and wife. At some point, we just stop dancing to kiss, to tighten our arms around each other and make sure the other person is real until the catcalls make us break apart and, smiling, I hide my face against Eric's neck. I stuff red velvet cake into Eric's mouth but squeal when I see the mischievous glint in his eyes, swearing that if he messes up my face on my wedding night, I'll be filing for divorce. Eric gasps in mock outrage and I make a face at him before we burst out laughing and, still shaking, I let him put cake into my mouth while my eyes remain trained on his face for any playful signs. Afterwards, we head to the massive suite in the Fairmont Empress with the view of the harbour. My husband - min man, is the translation he taught me - stands behind me in front of the window and nuzzles my ear, breathes into my hair that I ensured wasn't laden with hairspray. Turning in his arms, I rest my hands on his chest and nuzzle the line of his jaw.

"Are you happy, älskling?" My voice is soft and I meet his eyes as I push his expensive jacket off his shoulders to drape it on a nearby armchair. "You look happy. Your eyes are glowing."

"So are yours," he smiles and brushes his lips on my eyebrow. "I'm happy. You can't possibly imagine, Sookie." The pins gathering my hair are taken out and he runs his hands through the wavy pieces.

"I think I have a vague idea," I chuckle.

"You looked so beautiful, Sookie. You _are_ so beautiful."

"Anything for you." Unbuttoning his waistcoat, I let it join his jacket.

"I almost want to leave the dress on," he muses, hand on the side zipper and I cock a brow, waiting for the rest. "But you deserve better. Getting you _out_ of the dress will be more rewarding anyways." Lifting me up onto the window ledge, Eric drops down and reverently removes my heels, kissing my knee before rising and returning to the zipper. I hop back down and let him slide it off of me, smiling at his gasp and subsequent groan when he realizes the only thing I'm wearing underneath is a garter belt.

"It's why you love me," I grin but stop him when, my dress having been carefully draped over his own abandoned clothing, he kneels and his mouth begins drifting to my inner thigh. When his eyes meet mine in puzzlement, I say, "I want my first orgasm to be when you're inside of me," and watch his pupils dilate with want.

"Then I won't make you come," my husband leers and returns to his earlier target. I jerk when his tongue flicks me, no doubt a result of the celibacy I imposed on both of us in the month leading up to our wedding.

"I'd – _oh_ - like to point out," I breathe between gasps, "that it's not... going to take much, considering how long it's been-_ohgod_." The fact that I'm watching him the way he likes is the only reason I see his hand and grab his wrist before it reaches its own goal. "Eric. Not your tongue, not your finger. I want _you_." Standing up abruptly to turn away, he shocks me into silence but then he pushes the covers aside and returns to carry me Rhett Butler-style over to the king-sized bed. The manner with which he sets me down is suddenly tender and, sitting on the edge of the mattress, I look up into his eyes and unbutton his shirt slowly. He looks so incredibly handsome wearing only his slacks, the lines of his hips disappearing under his belt and his feet bare. I kiss his hands and abdomen, leaning my forehead against his solid presence as I murmur, "I love you." Eric gathers me in his arms, echoing the sentiment, and sets me down where I can lay down, rest my head against the pillows and to part my legs and let his hips settle on mine when he undresses to join me. I can feel how hard he is, and I want him so desperately - have wanted him all night - but I want every part of this to last, to be remembered and thoroughly enjoyed. My palm on his cheek directs his mouth to mine and we kiss, my tongue slipping into his mouth. I make a displeased sound when he sits back and bends down to briefly kiss my knee before taking the two pillows on his side of the bed and tapping my side.

"Lift your hips, Sook," he orders softly and, by hooking his arm under me, lifts my hips high enough to pile both pillows under me. Guiding me to place another pillow under my shoulders to make the angle less extreme on my neck, he asks me if I'm comfortable and I wiggle around to make myself so before nodding yes. I have no clue what he's doing, but I trust this to be good when he slowly lowers his body atop mine, holding his torso up with the two hands that press into the mattress next to my head. Pressing a kiss onto my stomach, Eric thrusts into me smoothly and I arch, my breath catching in my throat. I hadn't thought it would be possible but I had actually forgotten about how _good_ he feels, even though this is so much more incredible than I remember.

"Christ, Eric, what..." I ask but drift off when his hips begin moving against mine in a figure-eight.

"Good? You seem to be enjoying it." Eric grins and lets out a happy noise of his own when I give him an internal squeeze. His long legs are the only reason why this is working, I observe just before another deep, grinding thrust sends all rational thought scattering.

"Someone's been doing his homework." My sentence is punctuated with a sharp sound that marks him hitting...

"Jackpot." My husband smiles and lowers his mouth to a nipple. The languid movement of his hips is steadily pushing me closer, the pressure building in my lower abdomen, and I let the hand that was resting at the small of his back to drift lower and squeeze my favourite asset of his.

"Eric," I breathe, but he's too busy flicking my nipple with his tongue so I repeat his name and then tilt his face up to mine. "Älskling, come with me. I want you to come with me." With that, I tighten my internal muscles and revel in his groans as he speeds up his thrusts. "I'm so close," I choke, "Eric, _EricEricEric_."

"_Fuck me_," Eric gasps and jerks inside of me, his orgasm triggering such an intense one in me that I cry out and dig my fingernails into his shoulders. We both still, eyes wide and chests heaving with the shock of pleasure. Eventually he tugs the pillows out from underneath my hips and I pull the other one up so it's under my head, and I guide Eric to lie atop me. My fingers tangle in his blonde hair that he had styled back, feeling the product coating the strands that are so close to my own hair in colour. I kiss his forehead, feeling the beginnings of his stubble on my bare chest.

"Jag älskar dig," I murmur. "I love you so much, Eric." He kisses my chest, peppering soft kisses with his gorgeous lips and when I cup his face in mine, he balances his weight on one elbow and brings my hands to his lips for more kisses with his own free hand. Sitting up, I inadvertently force Eric to scramble and sit up beside me, facing me, with his weight on the one arm that he's pressing into the mattress on my other side. My fingers tangle in his hair and tug his head forward by his ears to kiss him. Soon, I'm pushing him back to sit in his lap, my knees digging into the mattress on either side of his legs. "My turn," I breathe against his lips. "Sit back. Lean on your arms." He obeys with a devilish grin on his face and I lift my body up, guide him to my entrance, and then impale myself on him.

A long time later, after Eric has rid me of even my garter belt, I gingerly disentangle myself from the sheets and, grabbing my silk robe from the closet, stand in front of the window, reclaiming my position from earlier that night.

"I don't understand how you're standing up straight when I barely have the energy to open my mouth."

"Your mouth was doing _fine_ earlier," I grin over my shoulder. Groaning, my husband shoves the covers aside and joins me, reclaiming his own position from earlier. His arms wrap around my waist and he rests his head on top of mine after kissing the side of it, and I lean back into him. The window faces west so even though I imagine the sun must be rising, slipping its fingers under the cover of darkness towards the east, our view is of the darkest section of the sky. The moon is full, however, reflecting in the surface of the harbour, uninterrupted save for the boats floating sedately in the water. Sufficiently entertained by the view, I let my eyes focus on our reflection in the glass and smile when our eyes meet. My Eric waves at me and I giggle, reaching up to rest a hand on the side of his face, feeling the warmth when he turns his head to kiss my palm. "I thought you were too tired."

"I wanted you in my arms," Eric grumbles, soft, defensive. His words make something in the pit of my stomach ache with longing and I turn in his arms to rest my forehead against the side of his face.

"You're very warm," I murmur and he bends down to wrap his arms more tightly around me and lift up my body and carry me back to the bed. Leaving my eyes closed, I let him untie the robe and tuck me under the covers to join me, his body warm and flush against mine. "I don't want to sleep."

"Why not?"

"I don't want this night to end," I admit softly.

"There will be others." He's right, there will be. Other nights with us in love, falling asleep together. Happy. Together. I twist my head around to see him, to see the drowsy, loving look in his eyes. There will be others, I know this, yet a small part of me, the crazy-rational controlling part fears just _how many_ more nights there will be, because even though I'm still me, even though I'm still independent and hard-headed and undeniably my own person, I want him with me for all the times when I get tired of being all those things. So I ask.

"Do you ever doubt that you'll love me for ever?"

"Nope."

"Me neither. I know you'll love me for ever."

Laughing, Eric taps my nose and says, "Progress."

"Aren't you going to ask me if I'm going to love you for ever?"

My husband regards me for a moment and then says, softly, "I trust you."

I consider his words and say, "Kiss me."

That night, I fall asleep in Eric's arms only because I can't wait to wake up in them.

**January 2015**

I stare at the plastic stick in my hand in my right hand and then check the small, crinkled sheet of instructions in my left, comparing the plus sign on the plastic gizmo with one of the two options provided on the paper.

"Sookie?" Eric's voice calls from the other side of the door following a knock. "You've been in there for a while; are you okay?"

"Um, come in," I say shakily. The door opens, my husband of nearly three years peeking in cautiously to find me sitting on the closed toilet lid with the two items in my hands which I hold out to him. "What does it say?"

"Is that-"

"It's a pregnancy test. I think I know what it's telling me but I'm not sure. You need to tell me what it _says_, Eric." I watch Eric's expression as he studies the little screen and then double-checks it with the paper.

"It's positive, Sook," he tells me at last, looking cautiously pleased, and I let out a breath.

"Positive?"

"Yeah."

"I meant, are _you_ pos- Are you sure?"

"_Yes_," he emphasizes the word and kneels in front of me. I nod to myself and take both things from him, dropping them in the wastebasket to have my hands clasped in his. "Hjärtat, are you okay?"

"Yes."

"This is what you wanted, right?" He asks and I realize he's kneeling on the cold mosaic tiles. It's bad for him, I observe absently, he has knee problems from when he got injured playing hockey in high school and it bothers him if it's too cold.

"Honey, you're kneeling on the cold floor, get up."

"_Sookie_," he presses and I stand up, not releasing his hand as I head to the bed and sit down, cross-legged on the unmade sheets with Eric perched on the edge of the mattress. I reach out and rest my hand on his left knee, rubbing gently. He clasps my hand, tugging on it to get my attention as he says, "Sook, it's what we've been trying for, are you having second thoughts?"

"This is where everything started going downhill with Bi- the last time," I correct myself, not meeting his gaze as I speak. "I got pregnant and something horrible happened. I'm scared, Eric. I'm... irrationally fucking _terrified_." Reaching forward, Eric wraps his arms around my hips and pulls me closer in the sheets so that I can lean sideways into his body, framed by his legs and wrapped in his arms. My head rests against his neck. "I trust you. I don't want you to think that I don't because I do. I love you and it's not like I ever expect to find out you- I trust you. This is why it's irrational, it has no factual basis. You're not him. But I can't help it. It's just the way my mind works, I guess. The last remnants of my fucked-up self." I'm rambling, I realize, and stop myself with an awkward chuckle.

"I know. Over four years; I know not to take it personally. But there's nothing I can do to show you that nothing bad is going to happen. I'm not cheating on you, never have, never will. I still love you, you still love me, and we're happily married." Pulling back, Eric smiles at me and ducks down for a kiss. Happily married. I love the sound of that, I love that my happy marriage is shared with _him_. "And soon, we're going to be parents."

"Are you happy?"

"Judging by your reaction, I am the only one."

"No, I'm happy." Laughing, I add, "Underneath the layer of sheer panic, I'm thrilled." Pausing, I let the news really sink in for the first time. "Eric, I'm pregnant."

"I know," he grins.

"We're gonna have a baby," I muse and move to my knees on the mattress in front of him, feeling my face light up. "Holy _shit_, Eric, I'm _pregnant._" My husband laughs and I throw my arms around him with enough enthusiasm that we topple over and I land on top of him with an _oomph_. Joining him in laughter, I kiss my husband and murmur, "Say it."

"Jag älskar dig, you demanding little woman."

"You better, because in nine months I'll be pushing your giant half-Swedish baby out of my little-woman parts." The truth of my own words hits home and I gape at him. "Oh dear lord, please let our child take after me in stature."

"As long as it's a girl. A girl can be cute and petite like you. A boy should be like me."

"Guess I'm cheering for a girl then."

"I thought you were impartial. Isn't that what you said before?" Eric cocks his head to the side and regards me curiously, but his hair distracts me and I run my hand through it and he makes a happy sound.

"Yeah, _I_ was impartial. But my vagina would much prefer an average-sized baby, preferably of the non-Scandinavian persuasion."

"We're not _all_ tall," Eric grumbles.

"Well, I didn't have the fortune of marrying a short countryman of yours, did I?"

"Then you should have considered the merits of marrying a dwarf before now, don't you think?" He's grinning, clearly enjoying our banter. Rolling my eyes, I find I can't suppress the smile for long.

"Want to come with me to tell Amelia?"

"I'd love to, min älskade."

That night, tangled in the sheets, Eric props himself up on one arm and strokes my stomach, still flat thanks to my obsession with going to the gym which may have something to do with the fact that my husband looks like freaking Thor. Eric grumbled at first about my getting in incredible shape, telling me he loved my body and my curves which eventually made me step down from losing weight to just getting more fit. There may be more hormones flooding my body than I would have guessed, however, because when he bends down to press a kiss into my abdomen, my eyes fill with tears. He rests his forehead against my stomach and then puts an ear against it.

"What do you hear?" I ask, eyes wide with mock anticipation.

"Your lunch," he grins and I can't help but burst out laughing.

"Eric, I'm scared," I whisper once my amusement has all but drained away and my husband moves back up to rest his head next to mine and drape an arm over my breasts.

"Don't be, I've got you."

"Don't let me go," I half-tease but he picks up on exactly what I mean, picks up on the vulnerability that's quivering right underneath the humour.

"My Sookie," he murmurs so quietly I barely catch it above the slight sound his lips make. "My wife."

"Almost three years," I murmur, turning my head towards him.

"And you never thought we'd make it," Eric chuckles.

"I _hoped_ we would."

"Well I _knew_ we would," he counters happily.

"Are you happy?"

"You know I am."

"Not just with the pregnancy, with me. For all my neurotic tendencies and insecurities..."

"I love you," he interrupts. "You always forget that. I get to be with you, my neurotic, insecure wife." Groaning, I roll away from him and he hooks an arm around my waist to pull me back, laughing. "Sorry," he adds, "_Skittish_ neurotic insecure wife."

"Fuck off..." I groan and struggle against his arms, laughter escaping me when I realize how futile it is. I shriek when he begins tickling me and then his mouth is on mine as he moves on top of me.

"You're ridiculous," I murmur breathlessly even as I split my thighs to let him settle on top of me once more. My palms flatten on his shoulder blades, just to feel his warmth.

"You adore me."

"I do. It's true." Feeling his lips press against my neck, I add, "But that's only because I was very lonely when I met you and you were all gorgeous and good in bed and a great cook. So naturally I stuck with you. I mean, if there's a foxy, foxy man who wants you for your brains, you go with it even if you're only in it because of his good looks." Pulling away, Eric cocks a brow.

"Oh is that it? So let's hope our baby gets my ridiculously good looks and your brains, huh? 'Cause let's face it, your appeal is pretty much limited to your mind and in the grand scheme of things, we both know that is secondary to my devastatingly good looks." That earns him a jab to the kidney and he rolls off of me.

"Just for that, you're not getting any for the next nine months."

"So you're telling me you're going to share a bed with your foxy, foxy European husband and fight the overwhelming _urge _to let him do nasty, naughty things to you?" This time, my laughter at what he calls himself is genuine and bordering on hysteria because he is just too much and I just love him so much and he grins widely so I pull him down and kiss him, letting my foxy European husband do whatever he pleases.

* * *

Have a look at Sookie's dress, minus the red sash:

http:/www[dot]helenebridal[dot]?prodno=WD0989&prodid=989

And the Ross Fountain in the Butchart Gardens, located in Victoria, BC, Canada:

http:/attractions[dot]uptake[dot]com/blog/files/2008/11/butchart_

Just put in actual dots where it says 'dot'.


	16. Epilogue

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter – the epilogue – of In The City. Thanks to every single one of you who stuck with me from the beginning and wrote me reviews and added this story to your Alerts or Favorites and made me look forward to writing every single chapter. You guys are the reason why I crawl into my hole every morning and write instead of, y'know, interact with the real world. Much love to you all.

The snippet-outtake-thingies will be posted as more chapters to this story, and should be up soon.

Any last comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

Eric watches her, not even bothering to hide the fact that his eyes are glued. She stands on her tip-toes to get something from the top shelf of the cabinet and glances over to where he's settled in a chair at the dining table. _What_, she asks, a smile tugging the corners of her lips up and he shakes his head wordlessly. _Nothing_. Her smile turns crooked and her attention returns to the salad bowl she was trying to retrieve. She exhales and tugs the bowl so it slides and tumbles safely into her hands. Ignoring him, she putters around, preparing a salad and checking the casserole. She's pouting now, a little, because he won't tell her what he's thinking and because he didn't get up to help her with the bowl. So stubborn, he observes with a smile, that she won't meet his eyes except for when she thinks he isn't looking. But he's always looking so her eyes flit away discreetly, though she purses her lips to keep from grinning. When she goes to grab the two of them plates, he walks up behind her and slips his arm around her waist. Gently placing the plates on the counter, she turns and smiles up at him, her defenceless smile, and it's no wonder he's so fucking whipped because the way she looks at him sometimes is enough to get him to drop to his knees and do whatever the hell she tells him to. _What_, she asks again and his hands bring her hips closer to his. He smiles at the firmness of her belly bump and they both look down, foreheads pressed. _I can't see my feet_, whispers Sookie and Eric laughs because it's not true, not yet anyways. Tilting her chin up to cup her face, he sighs, _I love you_, against her lips when she slips her arms around his neck. _You're just saying that because I'm getting big as a planet_, she teases light-heartedly, _soon you'll freaking gravitate towards me_. He catches her bottom lip and bites so lightly that there's no pain, just the faint pressure right before he presses a kiss against her lips. _You're gorgeous_, he disagrees. _Are you okay?_ she asks and he closes his eyes, not wanting to say it. _Eric_, she coaxes, grazing the slight depression of his spine down his back with a finger so that he shivers and arches into her. Resting her hand on his hip, she drops her head to rest it on his shoulder. _Five months?_ Her breath warms his throat though he tenses; she knows, she remembers even though they haven't talked about his- Sara, they haven't talked about Sara since the night he told her. _Five months and one week_, he admits. He counted, afterwards, like the sick masochistic fuck that he is. Five months and one week into her pregnancy is when her life ended. When he thought his life ended. The coil in the pit of his stomach tightens until he can barely breathe. _It's okay_, she reassures softly_, I'm okay. It's different, Eric._ He's looking away when she lifts her head so she places a firm hand on his jaw, turning his head and brushing his cheekbone. _It's different_, she repeats, her aquamarine eyes clear and wide and honest. He nods, knows it's irrational, still can't help the rising panic. What are the chances of the same thing happening twice, anyways? Really, he should be more afraid _after_ the five-month-one-week mark because that's terra incognita. _I love you back_, Sookie murmurs, delayed, and he tightens his arms around her waist momentarily before releasing her, worried about hurting her. She chuckles_, I'm not made of glass. Hold me, goddammit._ Obliging, Eric kisses her again, letting his lips linger longer than necessary. _See, all you needed was a little attention from me_, she teases playfully_. Just admit it, Mr Northman. You're a big softy. How big_, he cocks a brow. _Average_, his wife deadpans. He makes a show of clutching his chest and she takes a hold of his collar, gathering the material in her hands to pull him closer. _Kiss me_, she orders and he has to laugh because she wasn't demanding before she became his wife; back then she would just anxiously wait until he grew tired of pretending he didn't know what she wanted. She grew tired too, evidently, because now she just demands for the kisses. She knows if she plays it tough, he'll be soft and cajoling and she likes that. _I'll get the salad bowl next time_, he promises and earns himself a kiss on the cheek which is somehow more rewarding because it's not just a brief brush of her lips; she makes it count and then nuzzles the side of his face for good measure.

When the baby is born, Eric stands motionless, unable to take his eyes off of the tiny human being in his arms. He is almost positive their daughter is about the size of both of his hands, but he can't check because he is too busy trying not to breathe and startle her out of her sleep. Glancing up, he meets Sookie's lovely eyes and feels himself grinning so wide he must look like a lunatic. _Pappa_, Sookie calls him in Swedish and he moves the baby back into her arms, sliding into the hospital bed to put his arms around his family and press a kiss into his wife's still-sweaty temple. _I love you more than anything, love you both_, he breathes and she leans more into him, turning her head so he can kiss her. _We love you back_, she smiles and he has the sudden urge to run out and hire twenty bodyguards to keep his wife and baby from any harm that might come to them. He feels insane, like every beat of his heart is pumping more than just blood through his veins; it's pumping the overwhelming need to love and protect this little person who spent the last nine months growing inside his wife's belly. _Älskling?_ he asks quietly. _Yes, min man? s_he smiles, recognizing his tone as one he utilizes when he's about to ask for a favour. _Can we have another one?_ The choking sound she makes displays her impressive ability to suppress laughter and rouse their daughter. _You tired of this one already?_ she asks, amusement painting her features. _Not even close,_ he grins._ I just didn't know it could feel this way. _She shoots him a sidelong glance and agrees, adding that in hindsight, however, she should have anticipated the pain having to push a child out of one's vagina would cause, effectively causing him to drop the topic for the time being at least. Instead, he rests his chin on his wife's shoulder and watches her slim fingers caress their child who chooses that moment to open her eyes and curiously regard her parents with her sapphire eyes. _Hi baby, _Sookie coos then asks, _So we like the name?_ _We like the name_, Eric nods, kissing her clothed shoulder. _Hi baby, hi Desiree, _his wife smiles and asks another question about the middle name, the answer to which is also affirmative. _Desiree Sara Northman,_ Eric murmurs softly and then places a hand on the side of his wife's head to press a kiss into her hair, _Thank you_. _I love you,_ she smiles and then turns to meet her husband's gaze_, I mean it, I love you._ He smiles and presses a kiss into her lips, making a pleased sound when she recaptures his for a deeper kiss, and then they return to their child.

_See, min älskade?_ Sookie murmurs a few nights later as he holds her in what they've come to identify as the silence before the proverbial storm that is Desiree shrieking for milk or a diaper change or one of the various other things she requires of her parents in the middle of the night. _I told you it's different. We're different._ Thank God for that, Eric thinks and tightens his arms around her to bury his face in her hair.


	17. Outtake 1

_**In The City **_**Outtakes****by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N:Outtakes! There will be a few more, I have four other pieces as of now that I might compile into less chapters, but we shall see.

So this chapter 3, from Sookie's POV as it was originally meant to be before I wrote the EPOV and liked it more. But here it is.

Comments are so very welcome.

* * *

I'm once again at Eric's a little over a week later, a portfolio of design ideas tucked under my arm as I step inside the beigest of beige lobbies (I'm a decorator; I like colour. So sue me.) and am fully expecting to have to wait until the security guard confirms my appointment with Eric before letting me pass, but apparently I'm "in the system" now because he checks my ID and waves me through, smiling as he does. Once on the eighth floor, I ring the doorbell and wait, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet and adjusting the strap of my bag as I do so. It takes quite a while, and I hesitate before knocking, opting to try a different method in case he _did_ hear the bell and is in the process of getting to the door: a second ring would probably irritate him.

I put a lot of thought into this.

When the door finally swings open, I once again curse whatever gods there are above for the entire lack of justice in my life: Eric is shirtless. Clad only in a pair of soft sweatpants that sit low on his hips, his sculpted chest bare, he shoots me a puzzled look.

"Oh hello," he greets. "Sorry, did we have an appointment?" I drag my eyes away from his abs, over the faint blonde hairs on his chest and to his bright blue eyes. It takes more effort than I would have thought possible and I blush, realizing that I'm probably taking longer than is normal to respond.

"Um, yes, at 12:30? Arlene called to confirm it yesterday." Realization hits his face and my eyes drift to his nipples, for the first time noticing how drafty it is in this hallway.

"Shit, right," he runs a hand through his tousled hair, looking displeased.

"Did you want to reschedule?" I ask with a soft smile as if to say it would be no problem at all.

"Nono, come on in, you'll just have to give me a second." Flashing me a cocky smile, he leads the way inside and gestures at his couch, picking up various articles of clothing from the floor as he heads to his bedroom and closes the door behind him. Grabbing a seat, I listen to the voices travelling through the door; Eric's calm voice and a woman's higher pitch, sounding unhappy. Five minutes later the owner of the voice opens the door and scowls at me as she fixes her shirt and pulls her hair into a loose bun at the base of her skull before she grabs her purse from where it was tossed behind an armchair and heads for the door, Eric following her.

"Call me?" I hear her ask breathlessly once in the hallway, Eric's body blocking my view.

"Sure," he says easily and swings the door shut, turning back to me. He's still not wearing a shirt, I notice.

"Harsh," I can't help commenting.

He shrugs, "She knew better."

"Than to expect a little affection?" I complete his sentence for him and he grins as he busies himself with making lattes in the kitchen.

"Than to expect anything more when I made sure she was clear on my intentions last night."

"Do you always keep your one-night stands this well-informed?" I have to ask, though a part of me wonders why I even give a crap.

"Men who bring women home with the promise of something more are just desperate douchebags. I won't stoop to that level. The women I bring home _always_ know what I want, and they agree to it when they are sober."

"Such a gentleman," I observe with no small amount of sarcasm because _dammit, why can't he be a sweetheart_? He shrugs and sets down my coffee in front of me, and I would be put off by how he assumed I would want coffee had I not spent the last several minutes seduced by the smell of it.

"Maybe not, but you can't say I'm dishonest." I have to give him that; he doesn't sugarcoat anything. But still, _why can't he be perfect_?

"So," he says once his own coffee is set in front of him where he sits beside me on the couch. "What have you got to show me, Ms Stackhouse?"

"Sookie," I correct before I realize what I've done and he freaking _leers_ at me.

"Sookie," he murmurs, caressing every letter like my name is the most decadent piece of chocolate he has tasted, and I feel my cheeks flush. Moving the mug of steaming liquid away, I place the binder on his coffee table and open it, hastily beginning to run through the various ideas I have, pointing out fabric swatches for the curtains and the padded furniture, giving him a list of prices. He barely glances at the last and instead focuses on what he likes best out of the options I'm giving him, not batting an eyelash when I give him the total for just the materials, which in itself is a hefty sum. Though I guess with an apartment this lavish, he must be very well off.

Eric pads to the kitchen once our mugs are empty and begins gathering the ingredients for French toast, suggesting that I move to the kitchen where we can continue our conversation. There is a palpable ease with which he moves around his kitchen, and for the first time I realize that he must utilize this part of his house more than I would have guessed. I turn down his offer to make me French toast and continue babbling on about the rooms we have yet to discuss, like his bathroom and the extra bedrooms and whatnot. He answers all my questions, looking over any patterns or sketches I have while he continues to fix himself breakfast (at one in the afternoon), and soon he is settled in a high chair next to me, handing me another mug of coffee and asking me if I'm sure I wouldn't like anything else. I assure him that yes, I'm fine before teasing him about having breakfast in the afternoon.

"I love breakfast," Eric smiles. "Breakfast food is the best. Besides, it's made all the more enjoyable thanks to the beautiful woman I'm sharing it with."

"I'm not eating," I point out, a tad crossly.

"Someday," he responds cryptically and takes a bite of his food, gesturing at me to continue. We finish up soon after, Eric abandoning what remains of his food to walk me to the door and, to my shock, kiss me on the cheek. His lips are soft and I can feel his stubble on my skin before he straightens up and shoots me a strange look coupled with his lopsided grin.

"I hope to see you soon, Sookie," he murmurs and for the first time, I catch the barest hint of an accent in his voice, something about the way my name falls from his lips that makes me doubt English is his first language despite his firm grasp on it.

"Bye," I mutter inadequately and turn away from his inviting blue eyes, reminding myself that just an hour ago I witnessed this man toss out his one-night stand without a second of regret. It was this thought that kept me from turning my head to catch his lips with mine moments ago, and I thank my lucky stars for not doing anything rash. _So much for staying on my toes_, I think to myself, scoffing as I open my car door and peel out of the parking spot.


	18. Outtake 2

_**In The City **_**Outtakes**** by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: So, here's a Pam-POV that was mostly just a writing exercise to prove to myself that I could do it, but it didn't really fit the rhythm of the story, if you will. You will notice is that in the story, Eric says Sara was pregnant with a boy, which is just another reason why this chapter wouldn't have fit or made sense. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

He loves her.

It's so fucking obvious, I can't believe she doesn't see it. I can't believe _he_ doesn't see it. Who in the hell gets excited because they're meeting their decorator? My idiot of a cousin, that's who. I worry about him; I know how hard he falls when he falls, I witnessed it the first time. I witnessed his bliss and the subsequent hell on earth he- no, the hell on earth we _all_ endured when his bliss came to an abrupt end.

The first time he met Sara was on her birthday, when we were all supposed to go out celebrating and she suggested he tag along because he was staying with me for a week or so and I had been excited enough about his visit to pique her curiosity. I had been entirely justified in my excitement; Eric and I had been best friends, practically siblings because our fathers had been such close brothers. My ten-year-old self had been devastated at the prospect of losing my best friend when he moved to Vancouver, the only one who understood me and what I have since then come to understand as the gradual realization of my homosexuality. So really, I had told Sara, she could fuck right off and stop mocking me for being so excited about Eric's visit. She had laughed and told me to just bring him to the bar so she could see who this cousin of mine was. Besides, if he'd managed to inherit any of my genes, he would be fucking gorgeous and eye-candy would be appreciated at her 21st birthday. I had made a show of gagging, but that had been enough confirmation, for me, that she and Eric would hit it off. Even my eyes – my gay, family-member eyes – had allowed me to understand how good-looking Eric was, as well as being Sara's type. My cousin, uncharacteristically nervous and wanting to impress my best friend, had gone so far as to buy her a pair of Swarovski green-tinted crystal earrings to match Sara's grey-green eyes. Later, he had remarked that the 500 krona he had spent on the earrings had been his greatest investment and Sara had laughed and pulled him close for a kiss.

They were like that. They teased and laughed and couldn't tear their eyes away from each other even though they pretended to be cool and aloof and in charge of how hard they were falling, had fallen. That was the other thing, they were two sides of the same proud, gorgeous, giddy, crazy-for-the-other coin, and I got to watch my two best friends fall in love, brought together because of me.

Their relationship, however, did provide me with endless opportunities to mock Sara for being so giddy and to get my revenge for the mocking I had endured from her at the beginning.

And yeah, their life was perfect. They were happy and I loved them both dearly so I was happy, until Sara had to go and rip everything apart. Before that day, I hadn't realized the spark could just go out of someone's eye but Eric's did. Within the course of a day, he went from being the cocky, playful husband and father-to-be to being the quietly-devastated subdued shell of a person I no longer even knew, let alone someone I could communicate with.

They were going to name their daughter after me.

I thought of that fact every time I heard my name, every time I saw a baby. The daughter that they never had, the child who never got to be, was supposed to be named after me and now she never would get a chance to be. Someone had decided that Sara would become pregnant with a child she would never name, that Eric would love a woman he wouldn't be allowed to keep. And I, I had somehow lost my two best friends. Two weeks after everything changed I stood in the doorway of the room Eric and Sara had shared in their apartment and watched as he packed his life away and told me he was leaving, going back to Canada. He stood in front of me and stared down at the rug and I saw the scrawny eleven-year-old boy whose heart had been shattered. I saw the immense grief, the weight of the pain that was pressing down on his shoulders, and I wept at last for my loss, for _our _loss. I had fallen to my knees then, in the throes of the sadness to this day I have never let anyone but Eric witness, and he had begged me to stop, to please don't because he was sorry, sorry for everything when he had nothing to be sorry about, when it was me who was desperately sorry that I couldn't ease his pain. Gathering me in his arms, he too had broken down and we had wept with the frank vulnerability of children until we had fallen asleep on the floor, exhausted and empty. The next day I drove him to Stockholm-Arlanda International Airport and watched him get on a direct flight to Vancouver, whispering in my ear that I should visit, that he loved me, that he was grateful to me for having introduced him to his wife. His wife, he had called her, like she was still his and not in a wooden box six feet under, a memory and an almost-tangible gash in our chests. Eric had known, I realized in that moment. Drowning in his own grief, he had still managed to understand my guilt, my fear that he blamed me and that I had truly lost the two people most important to me. And he didn't. He loved me, he repeated, still hugging me, and he always would.

And now, over six years and seven thousand kilometres away, he's found Sookie. He loves her and now she knows, now they both know and she's put that spark back in his eyes so I can't hold it against her that she's not Sara. Still, I feel obligated to drag her aside one day at the club and tell her, in my scariest no-nonsense voice, that she had better be taking him seriously because if she is just joking around, I certainly won't show a trace of humour in kicking her ass if she hurts him. To her credit, she doesn't even flinch and tells me, in a cool voice, that she thought the Swedes were peaceful people. We just might become friends, I think to myself but raise a brow and she adds, without a hint of sarcasm, that I have nothing to worry about, that she is terrified and that is surely a sign that there's no joking around being done, don't I agree? But then Eric walks into my office and regards us curiously, and I get to witness Sookie's eyes softening and her lip-biting, not to mention the gentle way she puts her hand on his chest when he bends down to kiss her. Good, I think. Thank god. She loves him back.

Two weeks after she got hit by a car and Eric tried to pretend he wasn't flashing back to Sara getting hurt, he had flopped on my bed and told me he still misses Sara, all the time, but that he loves Sookie. Sara would have wanted him to be happy, I had murmured, sitting beside him. _I always thought that was some bullshit people said to make themselves feel better about moving on from a dead person_, he mused and tilted his head towards me, his blond hair splaying on my comforter. _I thought Sara was it for me, you know? _I did know. How could I not? Besides, who marries someone with the belief that there would be others? _But I can't doubt what I have with Sookie_, he continues. Sookie doubts enough for both of them, he tells me, and he can't hesitate for a second and give her the reason she needs to go running for the hills. _I want to keep her but she makes it so fucking difficult._ Still lying on my comforter, he had laughed fondly. Turning back to the ceiling fan, he whispered the he didn't even think this could happen, that he could fall in love again. But Sookie is different, I pointed out. _I love her_, he told me again. _Pam, she's... I love her._

Let him keep this, I pray to the asshole who let his life fall apart six years ago. Don't make him suffer again, don't make me have to watch him break again. He doesn't deserve that, he can't survive that a second time. I watch her sit on the bar before Eclipse opens for the night, watch her laugh at whatever he tells her and watch the way her body seems to gravitate to his. I watch Eric's smile, watch his fingers weave through hers and toy with the joints even as he talks to Chuck, and it's easy to remember Sara. It hits me like a ton of bricks, but I can stop worrying about him. He's done playing the field, he's done being untouchable. He shows me the engagement ring weeks later and I perch on the edge of my desk, awaiting the real reason why he's in my office because showing me a ring meant for a proposal he won't be making anytime soon isn't the reason why he's here. He's terrified, he tells me. He's in love and he's terrified and can I blame him, he asks? I listen to him – that's all he needs – and when he's done, I tell him there's no way she'll say 'yes' when he proposes and Eric bursts out laughing, which attracts Chuck's attention as he passes my open door. Soon, we're putting money down on how many tries it'll take for Sookie to agree to marry Eric, and he's smiling so I know he's okay, he's going to be okay. On his way out the door, he thanks me for taking care of the Blue Label shipment, which, considering it's part of my job description, is his way of thanking me for listening. Eric, I call out as he's heading back out and he pauses. How many tries do you think it'll take before Thalia says 'yes', I ask and he pulls out his wallet and turns to drop a fifty on my desk. _Third time's the charm,_ he grins and leaves.

Oh yes, he'll be okay, I think as I watch her walk down the aisle towards us, as I watch his face watching her. Later, as she dances with Eric's dad and I dance with him, I complain that he just had to go and marry my best friend again and watch his grin widen. _Thanks for everything, Pammy,_ he says and earns himself a sharp jab to the kidney as we continue to dance, because I'll be damned if I let him get away with calling me 'Pammy', even on his wedding day. Everything is okay now, I realize and smile, resting my head on Eric's shoulder. We're all okay now.


	19. Outtake 3

_**In The City **_**by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Another outtake set between chapters 14 and 15, though it's a SPOV.

Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

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I'm in a club, I think it's Eclipse but it doesn't look like Eclipse even though I know everybody there, all the employees and all the patrons. The music changes, 'Soul Sister' by Train is playing and I'm annoyed because I can't dance to that, it's not club music, but it's not stopping and it keeps repeating the chorus and suddenly I'm awake in my bed, staring up at the ceiling that is illuminated by the light of the vibrating Blackberry on my bedside table that is the source of the music.

"What in the actual fu..." I groan and reach blindly for the phone, knocking it off the table and fishing for it on the floor before I can answer the call - it's Pam, I can tell by the ringtone - and press it to my ear. "What?"

"Sookie!" Pam's frantic voice reaches me and I notice my heart is thudding from being awakened so suddenly.

Annoyed and still a little too out of it to pick up on the edge to her voice, I groan, "Who else?"

"Look, I need you to not freak out, okay?" Just the simple fact that she's ignored my snappy tone is a bad sign. It's a bad, bad sign and my heart is now beating for an entirely different reason as I scramble to sit up and flick on my bedside lamp.

"What happened?"

"It's not bad, I mean, it could be-"

"_What happened, Pam_?"

"Eric was in a car crash. He's in the hospital." There are no words to describe how hard my heart falls, or how fast I go cold. My grip tightens on the phone and I can barely gasp out a question so that she'll explain. "He's okay. He's... Just get here, okay?"

"Okay. Where?"

"Vancouver General."

"Okay." I hang up and clamber out of bed, tugging on a pair of jeans and a sweater over my tank top before I burst out of my room and into Amelia's.

"What- What's going on?"

"He's- Mel, he's-" No no no, I'm not falling apart. There isn't any time for me to fall apart, I need to be okay. So I take a deep breath and settle on the edge of Amelia's bed as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes and sits up to regard me with concern. "Um, Eric's in the hospital. Pam called and I need to go, and um..."

"Oh my god, are you okay? Do you need me to drive you?"

"Yes. No. I mean, I'm okay. She said he's okay so I just need to see him. I just needed you to know." That makes no sense. I'm not making any sense. But I just needed her to know, I needed her to be awake and a little aware. With sudden clarity, I understand that I want her to know in case I call her with bad news, in case I need her to be there for me later. My friend nods and takes my hand comfortingly. "Okay, I'm leaving now."

"Okay. Take care, I'm sure he's okay. Just drive carefully, okay?" I nod and she hugs me briefly before I'm padding down the stairs, grabbing my purse on my way out the door. With the streets mostly deserted, I speed and not twenty minutes later I'm in downtown Vancouver, pulling into the parking complex and hurrying into the massive building. Five minutes later, I'm out of the elevator and striding down the soothingly painted walls in the hallway that is probably filled with the bustle of patients and visitors during the day. Right now, however, there are only a few night nurses at the nurses' station and Thalia perched drowsily on a couch in the waiting area. She jumps to her feet when she sees me and hastily directs me to a room three doors down the hall and to the right. I shoot her a grateful smile and proceed to the ajar door of the room, knocking lightly before I step inside. The room is illuminated thanks to the fluorescent lamp above the bed shedding a clinical glow on the generic furniture and the room's occupants. The armchair-slash-cot in the corner is pulled out, adorned with a pillow, a quilt and Pam who is settled on the edge of it, anxiously regarding the figure in the bed who just happens to be my Eric. I exhale softly and Pam's eyes snap up to me as she quickly discards the quilt and pulls me into a tight embrace before tugging me out of the room.

"Drunk driver," she explains, sniffling. "Crashed into him. He's okay, fractured skull, dislocated shoulder. He's on morphine so he keeps drifting in and out of sleep, but he asks for you every time." Relieved, I clutch at the little diamond leaf necklace Eric bought me for my birthday.

"Can I?" I ask and she nods vehemently, pushing me into the room. Her subdued manner is alarming, so drastically different from her usual attitude, and I can only be grateful that it's due to the shock she's endured and not because of grief. Inside, I can finally take a moment to really absorb Eric's condition, the bit of dried blood in his hair, the square pad on his forehead, the sling his arm is in. There's a bruise forming under his left eye, under the concealed fracture, and a cut on the bridge of his nose, fresh and red with clotting blood. An IV line is snaking to where his left hand is resting on the covers, and his chest rises and falls steadily. Compared to the images formed in my brain since Pam's phone call, he looks fucking amazing, so it makes no sense that when I perch on the edge of his mattress and take his other hand into mine, I tear up. Moving a little closer to him I rest my hand on his chest to press a kiss into the undamaged part of his forehead.

"Oh," I breathe, quietly enough that I think I won't wake him. "Baby." I duck down and kiss his hand. "I love you."

"Love you too," he mumbles and I gasp, clasping his hand tighter in mine.

"Hi!" I gasp, "You're awake." Eric squeezes his eyes shut and opens them multiple times before he can focus on me and offer me a tentative smile.

"Only sort of."

"That's good. 'Sort of' is good."

"Thanks for being here," he offers loopily, even though his gratitude is absurd. That he thinks he owes me a 'thank you' is just strange because _of course_ I would be here, but it's cute that he's grateful, cute that he asked for me every time he came to. Smiling, I bring his hand to mine again and kiss it. "Stay here?"

"Yeah," I nod and glance at the companion's cot.

"No, here." Groaning, he succeeds in moving a little bit so that I can lie beside him, my chin resting above his unhurt shoulder and our clasped hands resting on his abdomen. I watch his eyelashes flutter shut and in that moment, it hits me how frail we are, all of us. How easily the drunk driver could have pressed a little harder on the pedal and ended Eric's life on a darkened street at three in the morning. I mentally recoil from that image; I love him so much, it would be so unfair if I only got to have him for a few months before he was taken from me.

With a guilty start, I think of the eager look in his eyes when he asked if we were going to move in together and the way I've been putting it off, claiming I can't just pull out of the rental agreement even though it's ending next month and Amelia and Tray have been looking at houses for themselves for months.

A long time ago I read an article on how it's healthier if you and your partner share a home that didn't previously belong to one of you. Something about feeling invasive or invaded, depending on which partner's home it is. But it's bullshit; I adore Eric's apartment and its wide open spaces and fantastic views through floor-to-ceiling windows. And, I observe snidely, I decorated the entire damn place and it continues to be my favourite project. For his part, Eric cleared a drawer and a good chunk of closet space for me within two months of us dating and never makes me feel that I'm encroaching on his space, nor do I feel uncomfortable or not at home in the apartment. It's _our_ place in all the ways that matter; the pantry holds two different kinds of cereal and the brand of coffee we both prefer next to the chocolate chips that we use for pancakes. The laundry room boasts my usual brand of detergent while the soaps in the bathrooms are all his. We're _both_ represented in the apartment. And we practically spend all our time at his place because it has more privacy, and the number of times I've driven to work from Yaletown is probably higher than from my own place. So what exactly is stopping me from just moving in?

Eric's breathing has already evened out and I kiss his shoulder, feeling the depth of my feelings towards him in this moment. He means so much to me, his humour and his warmth, the way he tells me he loves me more often in Swedish than he does in English and the way he wraps himself around me when we're falling asleep together. I would wrap my arms around him if I didn't fear hurting him but for now, I carefully get out of the bed and go to find Pam leaning into Thalia on the same couch as before. We talk quietly for a while and I insist they go home, get some sleep and come back in the morning if they want. Giving in, Pam tiptoes into Eric's room to say goodbye while Thalia goes to get the car and then pulls me close for perhaps the first hug she's instigated in the past year of us knowing one another. She has become something of a sister for me, somebody I've learned to love because of how important she is to Eric, despite her occasionally prickly personality. Taking this opportunity, I tighten my arms around her and whisper 'thank you'.

Pulling back, Pam meets my eyes and says in her firm voice, "I just want it to be known that I'm happy for you. I'm glad he found you, I'm grateful to you for making him happy, and now that you're engaged... Just don't fuck it up, okay?" I can't help laughing at her words, so soon after my resolution about moving in, but then I realize how bad the laughter may appear to Pam.

"Pam, I... I have no intentions of fucking this up, okay? He means everything to me, you have nothing to worry about." She nods and, once she's gone, I pull out my phone to text Amelia and tell her that everything's okay and that I'll talk to her later. Lying down on the fake leather of the cot, I cover myself with the thin quilt and watch Eric sleep. Nurses come and go multiple times during the night, checking the numbers on the machines he is hooked up to and replacing his morphine with a fresh bag. He doesn't wake up again, though I can't seem to be able to sleep, until a new nurse appears for the day shift and wakes him up to take his pills, perhaps eat something, and Eric's eyes flit around the room drowsily.

"I'm right here," I call softly and his eyes home in on me, relief evident in his features. Swallowing the pills down with a mouthful of water, my fiancé reaches out for me and I take a seat beside him once the nurse has left, satisfied.

"I thought you were gone," he admits.

"Nope, still here. Sorry."

"Dammit, I just can't shake you off, can I?" He teases with a smile

"Noooope," I grin back. "How are you feeling?"

Groaning, he seems to run a quick inventory before responding, "Like I got hit with a car."

"Awww." I stroke his stomach under his arm which, still in a sling, is resting across his torso.

"Mostly, I'm just pissed that my car is trashed."

"Oh shut up, you could have gotten really hurt," I smack his good arm and he takes my hand to press it to his mouth.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" Smiling apologetically, I nod and then shrug dismissively. "Lay down." I oblige gingerly to keep from hurting him, this time resting my head at the juncture of his shoulder. Eric presses a kiss into my forehead and I sigh, tightening my arm around his middle.

"Gently, Sookie," he laughs and I loosen my hold on him, muttering an apology. "It's okay."

"I want to move in," I tell him quietly and can feel him instantly tense.

"Really?"

"Is that okay?"

"If I'd known all it took was a car crash, I would have done something sooner," Eric laughs and I grumble so he kisses my head again. "I'd kiss you if they'd given me a tooth brush." Lifting up my head, I move up in the bed to capture his lips, to rest my hand on his cheek and deepen the kiss. Ending it, I pepper a few more kisses on his face before settling back in his arms.

"First order of business once I move in: let's pick a date."

"You're doing nothing to change my mind about getting into a car accident every time I want something from you." Shushing him, I warn him against making jokes and changing my mind and, laughing, he responds, "I wouldn't dare." Suddenly he gasps and I sit up in alarm.

"Your shoulder?"He nods. "Do you need anything, more morphine?" I continue anxiously. Smiling, he tells me to calm down and I stay seated, leaning on the one arm I press into the mattress on Eric's other side. We continue talking, though I take a moment to call Arlene and let her know I won't be going into work today, and the nurse brings Eric some food an hour or so later which we have to force him to eat. Pam and Thalia visit around noon and the three of them gang up on me to force me to go home and get some sleep. I whine unhappily but eventually Eric's persistence convinces me to leave, if only for a couple of hours. Once home, I shower and call Amelia at work, updating her, before I make myself some lunch and take a nap on the couch. By the time I wake up, it's just past three and I pack an overnight bag for Eric from the stuff he leaves at my house, leave Amelia a note and head back to the hospital after a brief Starbucks stop. The police has visited while I was gone and Eric has chosen against pressing charges. I frown, confused with his decision but figuring that it's up to him and if he's not interested in dragging this out, then there's no reason to. Pam and I switch off on Eric duty despite his protests and the pattern continues for the next two days until he can come home. Three days after that, I bring two large suitcases to Eric's apartment along with as much tomato soup as I can carry, the latter of which makes him laugh and the former instigates a giddy smile. We make love, carefully to keep from hurting him and then he watches with open glee – in lieu of actually helping me due to his arm – as I fill up the extra room he has made for me in his drawers and closet, _our_ drawers and closet. That night, lying awake in _our_ bed, we set a tentative date and discuss possible venues, possible guest lists. I don't want a big wedding, I don't need to invite everyone I have ever known in some show of just how much I love him or to wear a giant fluffy dress that makes me feel like a princess. I didn't do that the first time and I refuse to do it this time. To my relief, Eric agrees with me. We don't need that, either one of us, and since neither one of us are particularly religious, a church isn't really necessary either.

"I still want a wedding dress," I grin and he inclines his head, an awkward gesture considering we're both lying on our sides.

"I wouldn't keep you from wearing a gorgeous dress that I get to rip off of you," he chuckles and I press a kiss into his lips.

"There don't need to be a crapload of people," I continue, "Amelia, Tray, Claudine, Colman, Sam and Lauren..."

"Pam and Thalia and my parents," Eric nods.

"That's two less people than me," I point out and he shrugs.

"We don't have to have the same number of people." Fair enough.

"Do you want to get married in Sweden?" I ask casually. His parents moved back there a few years ago, before we met and after he returned, claiming that old age had made them miss their homeland. Considering they had originally moved because of Mr Northman's job, it was a wonder they had stayed at all. Eric considers the suggestion briefly before shaking his head.

"We live here, our life is here. We don't need to get married on a different continent just because I was born there."

"Okay, baby." I lean closer to him, wary of his injured arm, and breathe in the scent of his bodywash.

"That was an abrupt end," he observes lightly and I shrug. "Are you okay?" Rolling onto his back, Eric pulls me close with his good arm and I rest my hand on his chest, stroking over the defined muscles.

"I'm perfect." Fingers grazing up and down my back, Eric remains quiet for a minute before speaking.

"You're actually moving in?"

"I got a mover for Saturday," I offer as means for confirmation.

"And you actually want to?"

"Eric, what? What is it?" I tilt my head up to see his face.

"Nothing. I just don't want you to feel like you have to."

"Honey," I prop myself up on one elbow, "we'll have to move in together after the wedding, I was aware of that fact when I said 'yes' to you."

"So you don't _want_ to, you've just accepted it as inevitable?" I disentangle myself fully from his arms and sit up, gaping at him.

"What are you talking about? Eric, did I do this?"

"Do what?" he asks quietly.

"Put this- this _uncertainty _in you. You said we were okay after Victoria, was that just a lie? Did I do that to you?"

"Sookie, you don't control my thoughts, I just don't want you to regret anything."

"I _don't_!" Now upset, I sit cross-legged and regard him when he carefully sits up to lean back against the headboard. "Eric, please don't let my insecurities get to you. Please don't doubt me or how I feel about you."

"Okay, calm down," he soothes but I'm too far gone all of a sudden.

"No, if you doubt me, then I've messed with your head enough for you to question my motives and that- _Christ_, it means I found the love of my life but I drove you away with how fucked up I am!" Reaching out with his right arm, Eric grasps my own upper arm and ducks down to meet my eyes, "You're not driving me away. _Calm down_." Scooting forward, he brings my body to his with his one arm and I rest my forehead on his shoulder, shaking.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for everything."

"Shhh, just calm down, okay?" Pulling back, Eric holds my chin so that I'm forced to look at him. "I don't doubt, for a second, that you love me. I'd have to be blind. But if _you_ doubt things, doubt what you want or what's best for you, then there's no point to any of it because one day you'll freak out when I can't help you and you'll run."

"I want _you_. I'm not going to-..." I stop at the look on his face. "Okay, so I might run. But I'm learning. I'm doing better, aren't I?" He chuckles. "I am, right?" Still chuckling, he nods.

"Yes, you are. There is definite progress. All it took was for you to think I was dying before you agreed to move in."

"Hey, shut up," I murmur playfully and move into his lap. "Tell me you still love me."

"I still love you."

"I know, I don't doubt you," I frown in mock offense and he laughs, warm and happy, so I tighten my arms around him. "Eric, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I want to move in and marry you." He pauses, watching me for a long moment before nodding slowly.

"Okay."

"Are we good?" Please, God, let us be good.

"We're good, Sookie. Better than good."

"Can we go back to being us again?" My Eric pulls back to regard me in confusion. "Can we go back to me being unsure and you comforting me? I liked it better then." Laughing, he nods and kisses my shoulder to trail his lips up to my jaw, to kiss my lips. "I'll stop being unsure, you know. At some point, after we're married, I'm going to stop questioning everything because I won't have any rational doubts left. And I'm not crazy enough to be paranoid. So, I'm promising you that I'll stop having the need for you to comfort me, soon."

"How soon?" He asks with a grin. "I mean, can I get an ETA of some sort or is that..." His sentence drifts off when he starts shaking with laughter at my expression and I smack his shoulder, laughing with him.

"Thank you, for being my patient Eric."

"You're very welcome, darling." The tilt of his head cues me to kiss him again and I do, until his words force me to break away. "Am I really the love of your life?" Oh, right. I did say that. I shouldn't have, but it slipped out because I've been holding it back for so long. It's been bumping around in my head, waiting to be let out, to be finally spoken when it's the one thing I couldn't bring myself to ask of him. I wanted him to want me, to love me back, and he did. He does. But to say that I'm the love of his life?

My first marriage was a mistake; a complete and utter error on my part because I chose wrong, but his? The Sara in my mind is beautiful and perfect, surreal in her perfection, and I have no doubt the reality was not too different. She was Eric's first love and only love if she'd been able to have her way – her way being life - and I'm just the girl who managed to be good enough to catch his attention the second time.

If she hadn't slipped, if she'd chosen to take a bath instead of a shower, if Eric had caught a cold and stayed home that day, I would have been lonely and alone and he would have been the husband to somebody entirely different, lived an entirely different life. A life without the heartbreak that came with the loss of his wife.

So I can't fault him if he loved her more, because he loves me a lot and the only person he may love more is long dead, so how can I be jealous of a dead woman? How can I expect him to love me the most when I'm competing with a memory? How can I expect him to tell me I'm the love of his life when he had a happy first marriage and mine was a shit-show?

He's still watching, waiting for a response and I nod, blushing. "You don't have to say it back. It sort of slipped out, I didn't mean to say it."

"Why wouldn't you want me to say it back?" Eric asks in puzzlement and I shrug.

"It seems like a lot to ask. And I've already asked a lot."

"And I've returned the favour, if you recall," he points out with a faint frown and I shrug again. "What if I mean it?"

"Eric, don't-"

"You're the love of my life."

"Eric."

"I mean it. It's the truth, Sookie." He watches me carefully and I groan to hide my face in my hands. "I loved her too, you know that." Struggling with me for a moment, he succeeds in pulling my hands away to grip them in his. "I would never have done anything to hurt her, but I was a kid when I met her. I wanted to have a life with her but I didn't know how; I don't think I would have been able to. You're the love of my life because there is no doubt in my mind that it's how long I want to stay with you." Our eyes meet briefly before I look away. "Don't feel guilty, Sookie."

"How can I not?"

"How can you n- Sookie, a minute ago you didn't want me to say it because you weren't sure I meant it. Now that you know I do, you feel guilty because I love you more than my dead ex-wife?" I exhale, feeling absolutely torn as I lift myself out of his lap to sit in front of him and tug sheets over my legs. "Sara's dead, Sookie. It broke me, it took me years to get over it but I finally did and then I found you. I don't feel guilty because when she was alive, I was good to her. I made her happy and I would have been the best husband I could have been to her and the best father to our baby, but she's gone, Sookie. Long gone. And I'm not willing to pretend you mean less to me than you do because I once loved someone I promised everything to. Because I promised it until death did us part, and it did, and I have to believe she would have wanted me to be happy because otherwise, I might as well just fucking throw myself off the balcony right now."

"Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if she hadn't passed and it scares the crap out of me. Because what kind of person gets scared thinking about somebody _not_ dying? How messed up is it that your pregnant wife had to pass, your heart had to break for me to get my happy ending?"

"Because your life was all happiness? How messed up is it that you had to get your heart broken and your baby aborted for me to get _my_ happy ending?" My Eric cocks his head to side and continues, "And yeah, I'm sorry for all the pain you ever had to endure, but I can't bring myself to regret it because now I get to promise that you'll never be that hurt ever again. So even though Sara's life ended, I can't feel bad because it wasn't my fault and I'm sorry she's gone but I'm not going to live the rest of my life worrying about it." His long fingers slowly creep over to take mine and I let a begrudging smile appear.

"Okay." It's what I say when I'm surrendering, when he's managed to convince me and I have no defences left to shore up. Knowing this, he smiles and echoes the sentiment before leaning close to capture my lips in a sweet kiss.

"I love you, Min Älskade," he murmurs, tugging on my arm until I move into his lap again, mindful of his injury.

"More than anything?"

"More than anything."

"I'm okay with that."

Grinning, he inclines his head, "Good. That's good."

"Hey Eric?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Don't ever get hit by a car again, okay?"

"I wouldn't dare, Min Älskade. I wouldn't dare."


	20. Outtake 4

_**In The City **_**Outtake by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Comments are, as always, more than welcome.

* * *

It's almost three by the time I get home, later than when I usually get there and I can swear I can see the sky lightening in the east as I turn off of Pacific Boulevard and into my underground parking spot. I'm so tired that I slump against the elevator wall and stumble into the apartment, dropping my jacket on the coffee table the way I know Sookie hates but at this time of night, I can't quite bring myself to care. Tomorrow morning she will seethe as she picks it up and hangs it up in the hallway closet, and then I will pad out of our bedroom and dip her to press my lips to hers before I cook her breakfast and that will be apology enough. For now, however, I strip down to my boxer-briefs and get under the sheets, smiling when Sookie murmurs happily and turns to curl into me.

"Hi, baby." She presses a light kiss into my chest and drapes her arm over my waist as I lay on my side. She calls me 'baby' when she's half asleep, when she's grateful for breakfast or for flowers. My name is for being chanted mid-sex, for being yelled when she's angry or for being cooed when I am. 'Min älskade' is what she whispers when she hugs me hello or goodbye or cajoles me into going out when I'd rather be staying in and fucking her on the couch.

Nuzzling her nose, I encourage her to tilt up her head so I can kiss her. I won't pretend it didn't cross my mind because it did, but I had reluctantly accepted that she would be too sleepy to have sex until the moment she slips her tongue between my lips and then I decide who am I to turn her down? Soon I'm moving atop her, groaning when she frees me from my underwear so I can bury myself inside her warmth and to let her run her fingers through my hair. We make love in a frenzy, gasps and suppressed moans escalating in pitch with our rapidly approaching orgasms and her legs wrapping around me is so familiar but so good that I lower myself even further on my arms to press as much of my skin as I can against hers. She's warm, her soft skin smelling of vanilla and honey and I groan as I mouth at her breasts, her taut nipples and tanned flesh.

"I love you," I groan into her hair, our entwined hands pressing into the mattress as I maintain my rhythm.

"Love you," she gasps on my exhale and I want to devour her, to lose myself in her and when my girl strains up to capture my kiss, I reward her with a deep thrust that triggers her spine to arch and get more friction. For maybe the millionth time, I realize that she's beautiful and mine and beautiful some more, and I duck down to graze my teeth lazily against her skin. A whimper escapes her and she writhes against me to gasp that she's close.

"Faster," she begs and I obey instantly, letting my tempo climb steadily until I can feel her walls clamp down on me and then I'm gone with her. Crying out, I ride her through her aftershocks with deep grinding thrusts while she murmurs terms of endearment to me in her post-coital affectionate mood.

"Eric, baby, my Eric," she breathes, hands stroking over my shoulder blades when I duck down to kiss her chest. "Don't move," she stops me when I make to roll off of her. "Stay, please?" The light blue nightgown that I shoved away to grant me access is tugged up to cover her breasts and down to her thighs before I move down to rest my head on her sternum and listen to her heart, to her still-ragged breathing.

"You're late," she mumbles breathlessly, already half-asleep.

"I was with my mistress." She pinches my bicep and I jerk, laughing as I roll off her to prop my head up on my arm and throw my leg over her body. "Damn, woman. She's less abusive." For that I receive a smack and I drop my head to kiss her neck when she crosses her arms over her chest.

"How's the sex with your mistress?" She plays along.

"Fantastic. Kinky."

She makes a thoughtful sound, "Yeah, you don't get kinky from me."

"Just your garden variety mind-blowing sex," I agree, twirling my finger around her belly-button to make goosebumps rise on her skin.

"Boring," Sookie observes.

"Tell me about it."

"Maybe I should get a kinky boy toy to screw on the side," she muses. I make a threatening sound and she laughs, entertained that I'm the one to end our banter. Squirming in the bed, I make myself more comfortable and rest my head on my bicep as I begin drifting off.

"You were joking, right?" She asks suddenly, rousing me from the almost-sleep.

"About what?"

"About wanting kinky sex. I mean, is that what you're-"

"I was kidding," I assure her quickly.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm _sure_, Sookie. It was a joke. You're the best I've ever had." Her lips press together in a suppressed smile and she closes her eyes. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Sookie."

"That was really cheesy."

"Was it?" I can't help grinning.

She nods, "And apparently I'm the kind of girl who goes for that kind of thing."

"Thank god for that," I chuckle into her temple.

"I love you," she tells me quietly, turning her head on the pillow to kiss my lips. "You're the best I've ever had. You're just... the best I have ever had." Suddenly I realize that she's no longer talking about just sex, that she's telling me I'm the best person, the best man, the best chance. And she's mine too, my best, my only. I don't want anyone else, haven't wanted anyone else in such a long time.

"I want it to be March," I tell her instead of everything else and her eyes light up.

"We've been together for a year and five months."

"Yes, we have," I confirm with a grin.

"I want more."

"More what, baby?" So yes, I call her 'baby' too. When I'm sleepy and blissed out and just downright in love.

"More time. I want to be able to look at you and call you my husband of however many years." Fuck. She says things like that and I realize I want it all even though beforehand it hadn't even crossed my mind.

"Okay," I nod sombrely.

"Okay?" She giggles.

"Okay," I repeat, feeling my lips twitch into a smile.

"Okay," she murmurs soft enough that I can barely hear it.

"So, can I see your dress?"

"_No_!"

"Why _not_!" I complain.

"I'm going to sleep, Eric. It's four in the morning and I have to get up in two and a half hours." I drop my head down to kiss her shoulder.

"I'm the love of your life."

"Did I say that? I don't remember saying that."

"Shut up. I want to see your wedding dress."

"It's bad luck. Are you willing to give up a happy life with me just because you want to see my dress?"

I contemplate that for a few minutes. I want to see her dress, that's the honest truth, but I'm totally okay with waiting until next month. It's just too much fun to tease her about it, especially when she gets that pouty expression going that makes dirty thoughts come to my mind.

"It depends on how low-cut the dress is." I respond at last and she bursts out laughing to curl into me, to tug the covers up around us and fit her body to mine.

"It's strapless."

"Is it skimpy?"

"It's tight."

"Well-played, soon-to-be-Mrs Northman."

"I know you, Mr Northman. Do you think I would wear a dress that would make you unhappy?" She laughs softly into my skin and I can't help tightening my arms around her.

"Sookie, something happened." I squeeze my eyes shut when she tenses and pulls back, no doubt thinking the worst.

"What 'something'?"

"Uhm," I begin inadequately. Here it is, here it comes. "I kissed someone. Well, they kissed me, it was a patron and she was drunk and I was helping Chuck at the bar and she kissed me."

"Okay," she says slowly. "And...?" Huh. She thinks there's more. Something about the way I told her made her think that the story went further. That, what, I slept with someone? She's so insecure that I thought telling her I had kissed someone else would have upset her, but she looks... cautious. Displeased, but cautious and awaiting more, awaiting worse.

"And?" I can't help repeating. "That's it."

"That's it? A drunk woman at the bar kissed you? You freaked me out you big jerk!" She sits up and smacks my bicep hard.

"Ow!" I sit up too, grabbing my arm because she really put some effort into the hit. She's scowling and it suddenly clicks that she's only annoyed because I scared her, because this isn't as big of a deal as I thought it was. "Wait, you're okay with the kiss?"

"It was some drunk woman. _She_ kissed _you._ I'm assuming you broke the kiss?" I nod. "Okay. Good. Don't freak me out like that again." She plops back down on the mattress, grumbling to herself about what a drama queen I am. I laugh, more in shock than anything, and lay down beside her.

"I love you."

"Shut up."

"I love you. I know you love me too."

"Right now, I'm annoyed because you made it sound like you had murdered someone when an intoxicated person hit on you."

"I thought you'd be more upset," I admit.

"It's not like you cheated on me. It's not like you love her. I'm not over the moon about it, but it's not a big deal." She curls an arm under her head and regards me casually, and it hits me like a ton of freaking bricks.

"You've grown. You trust me."

"I've always trusted you. I just didn't trust myself to be able to keep you," she tells me, quite seriously.

Insane. My wife-to-be is absolutely out of her mind. Despite everything that I've told her, everything that I am, she still thinks there's any chance of me finding anything, anyone better than her. Like I would _want_ anybody other than her. Like anybody else would be able to deal with me in the first place.

"And you do now?"

She shrugs, like she's not quite sure of her answer even now but says, "You love me. You want me to marry you. You'll stay with me even if I don't want you to."

"Oh, great," I can't help laughing and she smiles shyly.

"I just meant- you're attached. _I'm_ attached. And this isn't just a relationship anymore - well it is, but we're going to be married. And if you had any doubt about it, you wouldn't have done that. You're not the type to jump into things without thinking them through. I would probably smack whoever that bitch was across the face and then I'd kiss you just to prove how much better I am if I ever saw her, but y'know, I'm otherwise fine with it all."

"You can still do that." I point out, resting my head closer to hers.

"What, kiss you?" There's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and I let my eyes study her lips that I have grown so used to in the past months. I nod and she bends forward to kiss me gently, like we're in high school and this is new. Like I'm nervous and she could pull away any second. She blinks sleepily and rests a light hand on the side of my neck to regard me once the kiss ends.

"I adore you," she murmurs like an innocent child speaking to her favourite pet, which I suppose, considering the way she loves to cuddle up to me, I am.

"Does that rank higher than love?"

"Way higher." Sookie nods seriously and then cracks a smile.

"Then I adore you back." She makes a light humming sound and rolls to press her body along mine.

"Can we sleep now, baby?" Her words are starting to run into each other out of sheer drowsiness though the hand she has draped over my side is drawing lazy patterns on my skin.

"Sleep tight," I whisper and kiss her forehead, momentarily flattening my palm against the small of her back so she smiles and squirms closer to me. It isn't long before her breaths deepen and I'm left to watch her chest rise and fall, to crane my neck and catch a glimpse of the diamond glinting on the hand resting next to her head. Satisfied that for some God-unknown reason the ring isn't missing from her finger, I rest my own head on the pillow and close my eyes to drift off in a dreamless sleep.


	21. Outtake 5

_**In The City **_**Outtake by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: Can you believe I forgot about these outtakes? I love this story, and I forgot about it! But it's okay, 'cause I wrote this and another outtake, and it'll be up pretty soon.

In other news, it was my birthday three days ago, so this is my way of getting some reviews out of you guys. GET ON IT.

I'm kidding. Reviews would be awesome though.

* * *

"You're serious about this?" Eric asks, staring at himself in the mirror of the massive store.

"This isn't my joking face, Johan," Pam snaps, calling him by his middle in a clear warning that he better watch himself. My fiancé shoots me a look of raw desperation in the mirror and I quietly move closer to stand on the little platform he just vacated to get a closer look at himself in the mirror. The height advantage allows me to wrap my arms around his shoulders and rest my head against the side of his.

"You look good, you're wearing this to your wedding," Eric's cousin continues, leaving no room for argument.

"Sookie," Eric whines.

"Baby, you look amazing," I have to agree with Pam and she makes a satisfied noise.

"I look like a Ken doll a cruel six-year-old dressed up," he complains and I laugh to kiss his earlobe.

"You look sexy. You look like I would want my husband to look on our wedding day," I coo into his ear because he really does look fantastic. Even if he hates dressing up, even if he feels ridiculous and would much rather wear jeans and a t-shirt. Even if we had a big fight over this yesterday and now we have a fragile truce going that can shatter any moment. The tux is so perfectly tailored, so beautifully crisp and flattering on his body that I briefly fear I won't look half as good on our wedding day. My words have the desired effect however, and his reflection meets my eyes with interest.

"You think I look sexy?"

"I think you're sexy no matter what you wear, but I love the way you look in a tux." Pam and Amelia are carefully busying themselves with the various shoes Eric can select to wear on the big day while Eric and I continue to talk privately. "Will you wear this for me? Since I have to wear four-inch heels to even look average next to you, will you wear this tux so I can show my wedding photos to everyone so they can see how handsome and sexy my husband is?" Turning his head, he catches my gaze and I smile at him shyly.

"You know you don't have to wear the heels, right? I don't care how far I have to lean down to kiss you on our wedding day, I love how tall you are without the shoes." I smile because he's making an effort too, to be careful and kind and diplomatic because fighting always leaves us exhausted and neither one of us is willing to stoke the fire after the clusterfuck that was yesterday.

"I know, I'd just rather not look like a child standing next to you when we're getting married," I smile and kiss his neck.

"You wouldn't look like a child, you'd look like the love of my life."

"Awww, thanks Älskling. Then you won't mind me kicking off the heels the moment we get to Merlotte's?"

"Nope," he grins and I pat his chest before we both return to his reflection. It continues to take my breath away, how fantastic he looks. "I'll wear it."

"Like it was even a question," Pam snorts but I ignore her in favour of tightening my arms around Eric and kissing his ear, his cheek and, when he turns his head, his lips.

"You're handsome, Mr Northman. You're handsome and I love you."

"I better be. Gotta do something to detract attention from my smoking hot fiancée." The grin on my face is so wide it almost hurts and I return to watching his reflection.

"So, are we all good and made up now?" he asks, referring to last night.

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Now you're just repeating what I'm saying."

"Now you're just- Oh." Eric laughs at me and I join in.

"If you two are done having your _7__th__ Heaven_ moment," Pam interrupts us, "I have three dresses to pick up from the bridal store and zero time to do it, so can we just make a decision about the shoes so I can go?"

"What exactly do I have to pick? Shoes are shoes." Shooting a look at me, realization dawns on his face. "Or, right, yeah, let's pick the shoes. I love shoes." I reach to smack his head but he ducks, laughing. Fifteen minutes later, after Eric dawdles until Pam and I make a decision for him, the four of us finally head outside so that Amelia, Eric and I can pile into my car to let Pam drive her Audi to the bridal store. I wait until Pam peels out of her parking spot before backing out of my own, rolling my eyes at just how fast my friend drives away.

"I'm so excited about the guys' tuxes," Amelia comments.

"At least somebody is," Eric mumbles and it's the final straw, after I spent that long trying to convince him. I stop the car in the parking lot to glare at him.

"Okay, that's enough," I snap, flooring it onto the street and refusing to speak to him for the rest of the ride. It makes for a bit of an awkward atmosphere but frankly, I no longer give a fuck. Even my friend wisely chooses to not comment on things further and it isn't until we drop Amelia off at her house that Eric makes another attempt at speaking to me.

"What did I say?" Eric asks, only stoking my anger. "You're just not going to speak to me now?" He sighs and we continue the drive. In our apartment, I toss my purse on the floor and sit on the couch, curling my legs under me.

"Call the store and cancel your tux order," I tell him crossly and his eyes widen.

"What, I said I would wear it!"

"And you'll hate every second of it, so I don't want you to do it."

"What the hell changed, Sookie? An hour ago you were convincing me _into _wearing the thing and suddenly you're against it?"

"I was telling you that you looked good in it, no matter how silly you feel, but if you really hate it so much, I don't want you to wear it."

"Okay, as kind as that sounds, that look you've got in your eyes makes me think there's something else going on here."

"I just don't want you to settle; it's your wedding too."

"Sookie, I was just being snarky. I was acting like a child, I'll wear the tux, okay? Will you please just not be mad at me anymore?"

"I'm not mad at you," I say forcefully, growing frustrated. "I just don't want you to do something you don't want."

"Honey?" he perches on the couch next to me. "I'm _not_ settling, you realize that, right?"

"Right," I bite out.

"But you don't seem so convinced," he observes astutely.

"Like I said, you shouldn't have to settle on your wedding."

"Will you stop _saying_ that? I'm _not_ settling!" He looks pissed off now, his complexion growing a bit red as he stands up. "Can't you see I don't care about any of this?" My eyes widen and I feel like I've been stabbed, but before I can have more of a reaction, he continues. "I don't care if the aisle is a cobblestone path in the Butchart Gardens or if Amelia's dress matches Pam's dress or if _I_ think I look like an idiot in a fucking suit."

"Then what do you care about?" I have to keep my voice from shaking because this conversation appears alarmingly to be leading towards something I don't want to be hearing. Claiming his seat, this time closer to me, Eric takes my hand.

"I don't care about any of the details as long as it's you and me, Sookie. I don't care what aisle you're walking down as long as it's me you're walking towards and I sure as hell don't care what I'm wearing as long as you take it off of me at the end of the night. And yeah, I'm going to complain and be a child about it, but I'm still going to do everything I can to give you your dream wedding because the only qualification for _my_ dream wedding is that you be in it."

"Really?" He chuckles and shrugs a little. "Okay, but you were a bit of an ass about it, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." He pouts, giving me his puppy-dog eyes. "Forgive me?" His bottom lip quivers and I have to giggle, bending forward to capture the pouty-lips with my own.

"I love you, you ass," I murmur and he pulls me onto his lap.

"I love you too." He smiles into my skin before pulling back. "You don't actually think I'm settling, do you?"

"What, with this smoking hot bod of mine?" I arch my spine and peer down my body. My fiancé laughs, and tightens his arms around my waist. "I'm definitely the one settling," I continue with a wistful sigh.

"Mmhmm, definitely."


	22. Outtake 6

_**In The City **_**Outtake by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris, I'm just taking her toys out to play with.

Rating: M

A/N: This is set before chapter 12 of _In the City_.

I love reviews; that is all =]

* * *

**Early July 2011**

Eric walks soundlessly, shoulders hunched and hands deep in the pockets of his black fitted jeans as he appears from beyond the divider and heads to where Sookie is studiously ignoring him at her desk. Standing in front of her, he taps his fingers on the edge of the glass tabletop and waits in vain for her to look up and meet his gaze. Seeing that he is merely wasting his time, Eric moves around the table to kneel beside her chair and to grip her armrest to spin the chair around.

"I'm working," she snaps.

"Talk to me," he insists, ignoring the remark.

"Later, Eric." Sookie seethes, attempting to return to the scrapbook lying open on her desk, "You of all people should understand when a person would rather work than anything else." Struggling with the force she is exerting on the chair, Eric still succeeds in keeping her facing him.

"Stop, Sookie. Just _stop_."

"Go away." The muscles in his arm are bulging with the effort but still she can't turn away. Stubbornly looking away, she eventually stops fighting him and sits stiffly. Cautiously, Eric removes his hands and when she doesn't make a move, he leans forward to kiss her cheek and breathe in the scent of her hair.

"I'm sorry."

"Fuck off, Eric. I'm not in the mood for you." But her voice is soft, her resolve weakening and he leans his head into the side of hers.

"Forgive me, Min Älskade. I know you deserve better, I just wasn't thinking straight."

"It's my _birthday_," she mutters, clearly upset.

"I know."

"And you were going to spend it with some friend?" She continues.

"A business invest- that's not the point," he amends quickly at the expression on her face.

"My birthday," Sookie repeats and her boyfriend rests his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Älskling." His lips, soft and familiar, press into her shoulder, bare save for the lacy strap of her sleeveless shirt. Her neck receives the same treatment, several kisses trailed up to the flesh behind her ear and she closes her eyes to lean into his touch, having missed his attentions.

"Jag är ledsen, min Sookie. Jag älskar dig, förlåt mig," Eric cajoles, knowing well how much she loves hearing him speak Swedish even if she doesn't understand him.

"Shut up. Jag hatar dig." He cracks a smile at her half-hearted statement.

"Förlåt mig," he insists and draws her earlobe into his mouth. She knows what that one means; he uses it enough.

"What are you going to do to make it up to me?"

"I'm going to take you out to dinner?" Eric suggests uncertainly, pulling back

"Wrong."

"I am going to cook you dinner," he tries again and sighs in relief at the grin of approval on her face. "And breakfast?"

"If you insist," Sookie shrugs coyly and he regards her carefully for a moment, palms cupping her cheeks in his hands. She's beautiful, he observes for the billionth time. All blonde hair and blue eyes, prominent cheekbones and glowing skin. He wonders at his luck every time she leans into him, arches into his touch and mouths at his skin. The look in her eyes when he told her he was busy on her birthday would have been priceless if he had been an innocent bystander but as it was, it took him all of two seconds to understand just how colossally wrong of him it was to knowingly make business plans for her birthday because he thought it wasn't important. The fact that instead of flipping shit, she had just shut down and walked away to ignore his calls for two days until he decided to show up at her office had only testified as to how majorly he had fucked up. Even now, when he's kneeling in front of her chair and begging for her forgiveness, he can see the hard edges of displeasure in her eyes.

"You're still mad at me, aren't you?"

"You made business plans for my birthday! I mean, what the hell, Eric. How could you think that I'd be okay with that?"

"I don't know! I guess... I just wasn't thinking."

"You weren't thinking that I would want to celebrate my twenty-ninth birthday with my boyfriend?"

"I wasn't thinking that you would want to go out on your birthday when we're going to Vegas this weekend," he offers meekly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I thought we could go to Vegas this weekend."

"Oh, like one of those overnight trips we take, but to a different country. Right," she rolls her eyes.

"It's your birthday present," he mumbles.

"Did you buy the tickets after we got into a fight?" Sookie asks knowingly.

Dropping his gaze, Eric nods.

"So you're just trying to buy my affections? You're trying to buy your way out of a fight?"

"I'm trying to make it up to you for being a shitty boyfriend," he admits, playing with the joints of her hand.

"And when were you planning on leaving?"

"I figured since you don't have client appointments on Fridays, we could both miss Thursday and Friday and come back Sunday night."

"So you made plans for me to miss work without telling me?" Eric groans and sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning his head desolately against the desk.

"I didn't mean to piss you off more," he sighs, pulling his knees up to rest his arms on them. Suddenly, he feels weary, tired of fighting and wanting her to just smile and kiss him and make up. As if sensing this, Sookie's eyes soften and she regards him more fondly than before.

"I know you didn't," she half-smiles and he waits, unsure of what this means. "Thank you for the trip, I really am excited." She joins him on the floor and crawls forward. Opening his body to her, Eric lets her press a kiss to his lips, doing an internal jig when she deepens the kiss. They end up with Sookie atop him on the floor, kissing the other breathless. Eric lets his arms wrap around her waist and makes sure to not push her because he's still unsure about just how thoroughly they have made up.

"Am I forgiven?" he whispers against the corner of his girlfriend's mouth.

"Mostly. Yeah. The Vegas thing did help," she agrees reluctantly.

"Okay, good."

"Where are we staying in Vegas?"

"The Bellagio."

"Penthouse suite?"

Eric raises a brow. He was expecting her to put up at least a bit of resistance to the idea of their staying in a five-star hotel, but not only has she taken that in stride and even seems to have expected it, she's pushing for more. Sookie, okay with staying in the penthouse suite? Not that they can't more than easily afford it, it's just that she had never felt comfortable with him spending massive amount of money on both of them. She happens to be right, though. "Yes," Eric admits.

"And you will buy me pretty things when we go shopping?"

"Um, yes." Eric feels like he's stuck in some kind of an alternate dimension where Sookie is alright with being a 'kept woman'.

"Good," she nods, apparently pleased.

"Honey?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"What would give you that impression?"

"Because suddenly you're okay with everything you've ever fought me on."

"Well," she bends down to kiss his neck. "I'm just letting you make it up to me, with shiny trinkets."

"Ah."

"Is that okay?"

"You know I like spending money on you, you're the one who's always fighting me on it." His hands brush over her sides.

"And now you're getting your wish," she laughs and hides her face in his hair.


	23. Outtake 7

_**In The City **_**Outtake by PersianFreak**

Disclaimer: Not mine, Charlaine Harris', blah blah, you know the drill.

Rating: M

A/N: SURPRISE! It's been forever, I know, but I wrote this in August so it's been nearly a year that I've been sitting on this little bit of drabble. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I love it.  
This really is the very end; as of now anyways. I have no more pieces written, so unless I get back in the groove of this story and come up with a sequel, this is gon' be it.

Reviews are always welcome, even though it's been ages since I've updated =D

* * *

The sun rises, the light of it hitting Eric and throwing shadows on Sookie and the space between them, sheets crumpled and scented with lavender detergent and warmth and their bodies. Eric's hair - cropped short - and his stubble halo his features, his prominent cheekbones and jaw line, the skin of his face marked with time and laughter. There are other lines – faint parallel ones on his forehead, parentheses around his mouth – but Sookie's favourites are the ones spreading out from the corners of his blue eyes still shut with sleep. Age has left other marks on his body; the skin isn't as smooth, the veins more defined, his muscles less so. She could reach out and touch him, let her hand stroke down the line of his arm and his eyelashes would flutter open, eyes focusing on her to smile, but she can't let herself ruin this image. The gold band on the hand he has rested on his thigh gleams, dull now thanks to the past nineteen years, and Sookie wonders at how long it has been, absently tries to calculate all the mornings she has awakened in this bed, in this room with this man and, abandoning that thought, considers how many more she will have. Rousing momentarily, Eric exhales and rolls onto his back, arms spread out and one hand hanging off the edge of the mattress. Almost instinctively, she moves and rests her head at the juncture of his shoulder and, without awakening, he turns his head to press a kiss into her hair. The anchor pendant hanging around his neck is peeking out from under his black t-shirt, propped up by the curving line of his neck, and Sookie wonders at how someone else's body can feel more familiar than your own, how you can have all the lines that accumulate to make someone else memorized.

Doing her best to slip out of bed without waking him up, Sookie pads to the bathroom and pauses in front of the mirror to lean forward and examine the lines on her own face. Her cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the early morning Vancouver sun streaming in through their floor-to-ceiling windows and her eyes are dark blue, the darkest they ever get. The blond of her hair is peppered with greys because she refuses to dye her hair and her middle is less flat, less slim than it used to be but when they make love Eric still murmurs that she's beautiful and she believes she is, sees what he sees without the distortion of his love for her and is still satisfied with her appearance. She has her own lines extending outwards from her eyes and can only imagine how much of it is because of Eric. Back in the bed, she lies on her back rather than disturb his sleep by returning to his arms, and so is surprised when he opens his eyes and moves to lie on his stomach with his head above her shoulder, arm and leg thrown across her body.

"Good morning," he murmurs into her neck and then kisses it for good measure. In response, she runs a hand through his hair to saturate the air with the cool scent of his decidedly masculine shampoo and presses a kiss into his temple.

"God morgon, min lilla gubbe," Sookie whispers, her Swedish having improved in the past years.

"Who're you calling a little old man?" Eric complains and she giggles.

"Not just any little old man, _my_ little old man."

"I'm not old," he grumbles before adding, with a waggle of his eyebrows, "or little."

Their gaze intensifies and Sookie's breath catches in her throat with anticipation of a touch, a kiss, anything. She closes her eyes, feels the whisper of his lips near hers while he considers his options and settles for her lower lip, catching it between his own and teasing it before capturing her mouth. It's sweet and wordless and wonderful, and she rests her palms on his cheeks and follows his lips when he moves to settle between her legs. Hands expertly unlatch the chain around his neck and deposit it onto the bedside table before settling on his shoulder blades which jut out from the strain of his arms holding him up above her body. Instead of letting their hands wander down, following the lines of the other's body to prompt their coupling, they kiss for several long moments. Eric's breathing is growing ragged in her ear and Sookie smiles at how perfect this moment is, at the still-rising sun and the tangled sheets and their tangled legs, at the warm taste of his mouth and the roughness of the palm of his hand when it grips her hip. The perfection comes to an abrupt end at the sound of the knock on the door.

"Are you guys up? You said you'd drive me today, remember?" Dezzie – that's how she likes to spell it – pauses and then adds, "Please tell me you aren't being gross or I'm going to be late on the first day of high school."

Sookie laughs, they both do, and calls out, "We're up, honey." The departing sound of footsteps is followed by Eric sighing and dropping his head to his wife's neck. "We should get up," she murmurs, "we have that daughter person to parent or something."

"Daughter? I don't remember a daughter," he muses and kisses her earlobe to elicit another laugh.

"Funny, I thought it was the teenager who disowned the parents at fifteen, not the other way around."

"Hmmm, kiss me."

"We should go," she repeats gently and he makes a small sound, unhappy and disappointed all at once.

"Just one kiss." Relenting, she turns her head and obliges, licking lightly at his bottom lip to slip her tongue into his mouth and move atop him which makes it easier for her to break away and disentangle from his arms a moment later. He mumbles something about this "heartless wife of mine" and how clearly, he loves her more than she loves him, but by the time Sookie has quickly showered, the grumbling man in her bed has become the grumbling man in her kitchen making breakfast for their daughter.

"Good morning," she places a kiss on the top of her daughter's head and receives a response mumbled through food and a smile. Desiree is tall, but otherwise a perfect reflection of what Sookie looked like at her age. Blonde and blue-eyed, she possesses her mother's easy charm and her father's optimism. Eric has teasingly called her his little heartbreaker since the day she was born and Sookie can already see, even if it makes her husband shudder, that she will have to be fighting off the boys with even more conviction now that she's starting high school. "Are you making me breakfast too?" She turns to her husband and he sighs, in mock resignation.

"Yes, dear." He leans down to accept the kiss she's offering, matching her grin.

"Where's Alex?" Sookie asks and Eric hides a yawn behind his hand and flips more toast over in the pan, depositing it onto the plate before gesturing in the general direction of the apartment's third bedroom. A peek inside Alex's room reveals him in a whirlwind of clothes and notebooks hastily shoved into his backpack. If Desiree is the spitting image of her mother, then Alex is Eric's, albeit with lighter blonde hair and darker blue eyes.

"Hey, mom," her son breathes and pauses to shoot her a signature Northman grin designed to melt the heart of any passing women.

"Hey," Sookie raises a brow, "shouldn't you have packed your bag last night?"

"Oops?" The lopsided grin is now coupled with the innocent look in his eyes and she can't help laughing.

"Hurry up, kid. You're going to miss your bus. Dad's making French toast." Returning to the kitchen with Alex hot on her heels, Sookie finds Desiree already finished her breakfast and putting her dirty plate into the dishwasher while Eric, having apparently just finished cooking, takes a seat in front of a pile of food with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

"Mine?" she asks hopefully after her son greets Eric and the latter points, with a bemused grin, at the two plates of French toast, one flanked with coffee and the other with orange juice. Immediately, Alex lets out a victorious cry and claims his place before Sookie can kiss her husband's forehead and take her own seat beside him. By the time all the plates are empty, Desiree is emerging from her bedroom dressed in a pretty flowered dress that makes Eric clear his throat and look away pointedly. Sookie can't help admiring the masterful way with which her fifteen-year-old has applied her makeup however, and calmly observes that she isn't wearing as much as one would fear. The girl is practically being modest about it, when one considers some other girls her age. The dress, on the other hand...

"Honey, at the risk of sounding like an uncool mom, isn't that dress a little too short?" Sookie asks diplomatically and Eric turns away from them both to hide a smile. Desiree's face falls and she shoots her mother a sad look.

"But you bought me this dress."

"After you said you'd wear it with tights." Sighing, Sookie's daughter throws her hands up in the air and deposits her purse onto the floor.

"Do you want me to put on tights?"

"Yes," Sookie, Eric and Alex respond in tandem, the last of whom receives the brunt of Desiree's frustration in.

"Shut up, Alex."

"Hey, I'm just saying, nobody wants to see their sister dressed like that," Alex raises his hands in surrender and Sookie mentally observes that it's true, Jason had on more than one occasion expressed his disapproval of her outfits in high school. In the interest of maintaining the peace, Sookie suggests that her daughter go and change so they can get going and receives a sigh and a disappointed look followed by Desiree dejectedly stomping back to her room. Locating her purse and her keys, Sookie reasons with her son about why exactly Dezzie gets a ride to school while he has to take the bus – it's her first day of high school; when it's Alex's, he will get a ride to school – before grumbling to her husband about the fact that he can go back to bed as he has Mondays off. Eric apologizes insincerely with a laugh and promises to cook her lunch just as he has packed their children's. Mollified, Sookie ushers the kids out, kissing Eric goodbye and sending Alex off at the lobby on his short walk to the bus stop before continuing with Desiree down to the parking garage. Her daughter is still sulking and Sookie wonders if she will readjust her outfit the moment she reaches the school, and whether or not there is anything at all Sookie can do about that. Dezzie warms up to her mother by the time they reach the school however, and even goes as far as to allow a hug and kiss in her hair before she hops out of the car to fade into the early morning crowd heading inside the school.

With sudden and perfect clarity, Sookie recalls the day her daughter was born, remembers all the events that led to that day. Fifteen years, sixteen in two weeks. And Alex is thirteen, will be fourteen in February, and Sookie has been with Eric for twenty-one years total, as of mid-September. It still blows her mind, to think of the numbers and the dates and all the events that transpired to lead to the present. Rather alarming, she thinks, that she could have refused to give Eric a chance and missed out on all of this, because _this_ is perfect. She loves absolutely everything about her life, her sexy and sweet husband and beautiful daughter and charming son. She loves that Desiree still sits in her dad's lap and falls asleep in his arms and that Alex knows to wash the dishes when he wants something, that Eric still kisses her good-morning and good-night and that Pam's sharp wit has not dulled despite her age. She's in love, Eric jokes regularly, with the whole freaking world and it's endearing, really, he claims right before Sookie smacks him.

Snapping out of her reverie, Sookie turns the car around and heads home to slip into the apartment and back into bed beside Eric, lying on her side to kiss his shoulder.

"That was quick," Eric murmurs with his eyes closed where he's lying on his back and she makes a noise in agreement, hand stroking over his abdomen.

"I'm in love with you," she whispers, lips brushing over the light cotton covering his torso and he turns his head towards her.

"I'm in love with you," he echoes softly, emphasizing the last word and trapping her hand over his ribs to move it to over his heart.

Smiling, she adds playfully, "Thank you for loving me for twenty-one years." Eric's laughter shakes his entire body and reverberates wonderfully around the room.

"Thank you for letting me, min älskade."

"Well, you know, I felt bad for you, figured you were a pretty lonely guy-" His mouth on hers stops the words from forming and she can't help giggling into his kiss, to stroke his cheeks when he moves on top of her. "I love you." Laughing, Eric returns the sentiment. "Say it in Swedish," she orders softly as he guides her to lift her hips to undress her. Tucking her fingers under the hem of her own shirt, she slides it off of her head and does the same to Eric's, smiling at the way he tosses the garments over his shoulder.

"Jag älskar dig." Now fully naked, he settles his hips between her legs to kiss her, to lick and nibble at her skin in the way that is so familiar yet still exhilarating.

"Mmmm," she moans exaggeratedly at his words and he rolls his eyes. "Say it again, baby." He does, emphasizing the words and enjoying their little game just as much as she is. "My sexy European husband," she gasps, teasing him, and he mutters something about her being a little brat in Swedish.

"Did that turn you on?" he mocks and Sookie pouts in response.

"The sexy, it goes away when you're insulting me."

"Then let me make it up to you, min lilla brat," he repeats his earlier words and her eyes narrow. Eric's hands move behind her to unclasp her bra and soon he latches onto a nipple. "How's this for making it up to you?"

"Good," she sighs and arches her chest further into his mouth.

"Good?" Her husband smiles, eyes squinting happily.

"Yes. I love it when you say it in Swedish."

"I know. I like saying it in any language."


End file.
